schöner wohnen farbe salsa

howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 8 the friendship between margaret and mrs.wilcox, which was to develop so--quickly and with such strange results, may perhapshave had its beginnings at speyer, in the spring. perhaps the elder lady, as she gazed at thevulgar, ruddy cathedral, and listened to the talk of helen and her husband, may havedetected in the other and less charming of the sisters a deeper sympathy, a sounderjudgment. she was capable of detecting such things. perhaps it was she who had desired the missschlegels to be invited to howards end, and

margaret whose presence she hadparticularly desired. all this is speculation: mrs. wilcox hasleft few clear indications behind her. it is certain that she came to call atwickham place a fortnight later, the very day that helen was going with her cousin tostettin. "helen!" cried fraulein mosebach inawestruck tones (she was now in her cousin's confidence)--"his mother hasforgiven you!" and then, remembering that in england thenew-comer ought not to call before she is called upon, she changed her tone from aweto disapproval, and opined that mrs. wilcox was "keine dame."

"bother the whole family!" snappedmargaret. "helen, stop giggling and pirouetting, andgo and finish your packing. why can't the woman leave us alone?" "i don't know what i shall do with meg,"helen retorted, collapsing upon the stairs. "she's got wilcox and box upon the brain.meg, meg, i don't love the young gentleman; i don't love the young gentleman, meg, meg. can a body speak plainer?""most certainly her love has died," asserted fraulein mosebach. "most certainly it has, frieda, but thatwill not prevent me from being bored with

the wilcoxes if i return the call." then helen simulated tears, and frauleinmosebach, who thought her extremely amusing, did the same."oh, boo hoo! boo hoo hoo! meg's going to return the call, and ican't. 'cos why?'cos i'm going to german-eye." "if you are going to germany, go and pack;if you aren't, go and call on the wilcoxes instead of me." "but, meg, meg, i don't love the younggentleman; i don't love the young--0 lud, who's that coming down the stairs?i vow 'tis my brother.

0 crimini!" a male--even such a male as tibby--wasenough to stop the foolery. the barrier of sex, though decreasing amongthe civilized, is still high, and higher on the side of women. helen could tell her sister all, and hercousin much about paul; she told her brother nothing. it was not prudishness, for she now spokeof "the wilcox ideal" with laughter, and even with a growing brutality. nor was it precaution, for tibby seldomrepeated any news that did not concern

himself. it was rather the feeling that she betrayeda secret into the camp of men, and that, however trivial it was on this side of thebarrier, it would become important on that. so she stopped, or rather began to fool onother subjects, until her long-suffering relatives drove her upstairs. fraulein mosebach followed her, butlingered to say heavily over the banisters to margaret, "it is all right--she does notlove the young man--he has not been worthy of her." "yes, i know; thanks very much.""i thought i did right to tell you."

"ever so many thanks.""what's that?" asked tibby. no one told him, and he proceeded into thedining-room, to eat elvas plums. that evening margaret took decisive action. the house was very quiet, and the fog--weare in november now--pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost.frieda and helen and all their luggage had gone. tibby, who was not feeling well, laystretched on a sofa by the fire. margaret sat by him, thinking.her mind darted from impulse to impulse, and finally marshalled them all in review.

the practical person, who knows what hewants at once, and generally knows nothing else, will excuse her of indecision.but this was the way her mind worked. and when she did act, no one could accuseher of indecision then. she hit out as lustily as if she had notconsidered the matter at all. the letter that she wrote mrs. wilcoxglowed with the native hue of resolution. the pale cast of thought was with her abreath rather than a tarnish, a breath that leaves the colours all the more vivid whenit has been wiped away. dear mrs. wilcox,i have to write something discourteous. it would be better if we did not meet.

both my sister and my aunt have givendispleasure to your family, and, in my sister's case, the grounds for displeasuremight recur. as far as i know, she no longer occupiesher thoughts with your son. but it would not be fair, either to her orto you, if they met, and it is therefore right that our acquaintance which began sopleasantly, should end. i fear that you will not agree with this;indeed, i know that you will not, since you have been good enough to call on us.it is only an instinct on my part, and no doubt the instinct is wrong. my sister would, undoubtedly, say that itis wrong.

i write without her knowledge, and i hopethat you will not associate her with my discourtesy. believe me, yours truly, m. j. schlegel margaret sent this letter round by post.next morning she received the following reply by hand: dear miss schlegel,you should not have written me such a letter.i called to tell you that paul has gone abroad. ruth wilcox

margaret's cheeks burnt.she could not finish her breakfast. she was on fire with shame. helen had told her that the youth wasleaving england, but other things had seemed more important, and she hadforgotten. all her absurd anxieties fell to theground, and in their place arose the certainty that she had been rude to mrs.wilcox. rudeness affected margaret like a bittertaste in the mouth. it poisoned life.at times it is necessary, but woe to those who employ it without due need.

she flung on a hat and shawl, just like apoor woman, and plunged into the fog, which still continued. her lips were compressed, the letterremained in her hand, and in this state she crossed the street, entered the marblevestibule of the flats, eluded the concierges, and ran up the stairs till shereached the second-floor. she sent in her name, and to her surprisewas shown straight into mrs. wilcox's bedroom. "oh, mrs. wilcox, i have made the baddestblunder. i am more, more ashamed and sorry than ican say."

mrs. wilcox bowed gravely. she was offended, and did not pretend tothe contrary. she was sitting up in bed, writing letterson an invalid table that spanned her knees. a breakfast tray was on another tablebeside her. the light of the fire, the light from thewindow, and the light of a candle-lamp, which threw a quivering halo round herhands, combined to create a strange atmosphere of dissolution. "i knew he was going to india in november,but i forgot." "he sailed on the 17th for nigeria, inafrica."

"i knew--i know. i have been too absurd all through.i am very much ashamed." mrs. wilcox did not answer."i am more sorry than i can say, and i hope that you will forgive me." "it doesn't matter, miss schlegel.it is good of you to have come round so promptly.""it does matter," cried margaret. "i have been rude to you; and my sister isnot even at home, so there was not even that excuse."indeed?" "she has just gone to germany."

"she gone as well," murmured the other."yes, certainly, it is quite safe--safe, absolutely, now." "you've been worrying too!" exclaimedmargaret, getting more and more excited, and taking a chair without invitation."how perfectly extraordinary! i can see that you have. you felt as i do; helen mustn't meet himagain." "i did think it best.""now why?" "that's a most difficult question," saidmrs. wilcox, smiling, and a little losing her expression of annoyance."i think you put it best in your letter--it

was an instinct, which may be wrong." "it wasn't that your son still--""oh no; he often--my paul is very young, you see.""then what was it?" she repeated: "an instinct which may bewrong." "in other words, they belong to types thatcan fall in love, but couldn't live together. that's dreadfully probable.i'm afraid that in nine cases out of ten nature pulls one way and human natureanother." "these are indeed 'other words,'" said mrs.wilcox."

i had nothing so coherent in my head.i was merely alarmed when i knew that my boy cared for your sister." "ah, i have always been wanting to ask you.how did you know? helen was so surprised when our aunt droveup, and you stepped forward and arranged things. did paul tell you?""there is nothing to be gained by discussing that," said mrs. wilcox after amoment's pause. "mrs. wilcox, were you very angry with uslast june? i wrote you a letter and you didn't answerit."

"i was certainly against taking mrs.matheson's flat. i knew it was opposite your house.""but it's all right now?" "i think so." "you only think?you aren't sure? i do love these little muddles tidied up?""oh yes, i'm sure," said mrs. wilcox, moving with uneasiness beneath the clothes. "i always sound uncertain over things.it is my way of speaking." "that's all right, and i'm sure too."here the maid came in to remove the breakfast-tray.

they were interrupted, and when theyresumed conversation it was on more normal lines."i must say good-bye now--you will be getting up." "no--please stop a little longer--i amtaking a day in bed. now and then i do.""i thought of you as one of the early risers." "at howards end--yes; there is nothing toget up for in london." "nothing to get up for?" cried thescandalized margaret. "when there are all the autumn exhibitions,and ysaye playing in the afternoon!

not to mention people.""the truth is, i am a little tired. first came the wedding, and then paul wentoff, and, instead of resting yesterday, i paid a round of calls.""a wedding?" "yes; charles, my elder son, is married." "indeed!""we took the flat chiefly on that account, and also that paul could get his africanoutfit. the flat belongs to a cousin of myhusband's, and she most kindly offered it to us. so before the day came we were able to makethe acquaintance of dolly's people, which

we had not yet done."margaret asked who dolly's people were. "fussell. the father is in the indian army--retired;the brother is in the army. the mother is dead." so perhaps these were the "chinlesssunburnt men" whom helen had espied one afternoon through the window.margaret felt mildly interested in the fortunes of the wilcox family. she had acquired the habit on helen'saccount, and it still clung to her. she asked for more information about missdolly fussell that was, and was given it in

even, unemotional tones. mrs. wilcox's voice, though sweet andcompelling, had little range of expression. it suggested that pictures, concerts, andpeople are all of small and equal value. only once had it quickened--when speakingof howards end. "charles and albert fussell have known oneanother some time. they belong to the same club, and are bothdevoted to golf. dolly plays golf too, though i believe notso well, and they first met in a mixed foursome. we all like her, and are very much pleased.they were married on the 11th, a few days

before paul sailed. charles was very anxious to have hisbrother as best man, so he made a great point of having it on the 11th. the fussells would have preferred it afterchristmas, but they were very nice about it.there is dolly's photograph--in that double frame." "are you quite certain that i'm notinterrupting, mrs. wilcox?" "yes, quite.""then i will stay. i'm enjoying this."

dolly's photograph was now examined.it was signed "for dear mims," which mrs. wilcox interpreted as "the name she andcharles had settled that she should call me." dolly looked silly, and had one of thosetriangular faces that so often prove attractive to a robust man.she was very pretty. from her margaret passed to charles, whosefeatures prevailed opposite. she speculated on the forces that had drawnthe two together till god parted them. she found time to hope that they would behappy. "they have gone to naples for theirhoneymoon."

"lucky people!" "i can hardly imagine charles in italy.""doesn't he care for travelling?" "he likes travel, but he does see throughforeigners so. what he enjoys most is a motor tour inengland, and i think that would have carried the day if the weather had not beenso abominable. his father gave him a car of his own for awedding present, which for the present is being stored at howards end.""i suppose you have a garage there?" "yes. my husband built a little one onlylast month, to the west of the house, not far from the wych-elm, in what used to bethe paddock for the pony."

the last words had an indescribable ringabout them. "where's the pony gone?" asked margaretafter a pause. "the pony? oh, dead, ever so long ago.""the wych-elm i remember. helen spoke of it as a very splendid tree.""it is the finest wych-elm in hertfordshire. did your sister tell you about the teeth?""no." "oh, it might interest you.there are pigs' teeth stuck into the trunk, about four feet from the ground.

the country people put them in long ago,and they think that if they chew a piece of the bark, it will cure the toothache.the teeth are almost grown over now, and no one comes to the tree." "i should.i love folklore and all festering superstitions.""do you think that the tree really did cure toothache, if one believed in it?" "of course it did.it would cure anything--once." "certainly i remember cases--you see ilived at howards end long, long before mr. wilcox knew it.

i was born there."the conversation again shifted. at the time it seemed little more thanaimless chatter. she was interested when her hostessexplained that howards end was her own property. she was bored when too minute an accountwas given of the fussell family, of the anxieties of charles concerning naples, ofthe movements of mr. wilcox and evie, who were motoring in yorkshire. margaret could not bear being bored. she grew inattentive, played with thephotograph frame, dropped it, smashed

dolly's glass, apologized, was pardoned,cut her finger thereon, was pitied, and finally said she must be going--there was all the housekeeping to do, and she had tointerview tibby's riding-master. then the curious note was struck again."good-bye, miss schlegel, good-bye. thank you for coming. you have cheered me up.""i'm so glad!" "i--i wonder whether you ever think aboutyourself.?" "i think of nothing else," said margaret,blushing, but letting her hand remain in that of the invalid."i wonder.

i wondered at heidelberg." "i'm sure!""i almost think--" "yes?" asked margaret, for there was a longpause--a pause that was somehow akin to the flicker of the fire, the quiver of thereading-lamp upon their hands, the white blur from the window; a pause of shiftingand eternal shadows. "i almost think you forget you're a girl."margaret was startled and a little annoyed. "i'm twenty-nine," she remarked. "that not so wildly girlish."mrs. wilcox smiled. "what makes you say that?do you mean that i have been gauche and

rude?" a shake of the head."i only meant that i am fifty-one, and that to me both of you--read it all in some bookor other; i cannot put things clearly." "oh, i've got it--inexperience. i'm no better than helen, you mean, and yeti presume to advise her." "yes. you have got it.inexperience is the word." "inexperience," repeated margaret, inserious yet buoyant tones. "of course, i have everything to learn--absolutely everything--just as much as helen.

life's very difficult and full ofsurprises. at all events, i've got as far as that. to be humble and kind, to go straightahead, to love people rather than pity them, to remember the submerged--well, onecan't do all these things at once, worse luck, because they're so contradictory. it's then that proportion comes in--to liveby proportion. don't begin with proportion.only prigs do that. let proportion come in as a last resource,when the better things have failed, and a deadlock--gracious me, i've startedpreaching!"

"indeed, you put the difficulties of lifesplendidly," said mrs. wilcox, withdrawing her hand into the deeper shadows."it is just what i should have liked to say about them myself." > howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 9 mrs. wilcox cannot be accused of givingmargaret much information about life. and margaret, on the other hand, has made afair show of modesty, and has pretended to an inexperience that she certainly did notfeel. she had kept house for over ten years; shehad entertained, almost with distinction;

she had brought up a charming sister, andwas bringing up a brother. surely, if experience is attainable, shehad attained it. yet the little luncheon-party that she gavein mrs. wilcox's honour was not a success. the new friend did not blend with the "oneor two delightful people" who had been asked to meet her, and the atmosphere wasone of polite bewilderment. her tastes were simple, her knowledge ofculture slight, and she was not interested in the new english art club, nor in thedividing-line between journalism and literature, which was started as aconversational hare. the delightful people darted after it withcries of joy, margaret leading them, and

not till the meal was half over did theyrealize that the principal guest had taken no part in the chase. there was no common topic.mrs. wilcox, whose life had been spent in the service of husband and sons, had littleto say to strangers who had never shared it, and whose age was half her own. clever talk alarmed her, and withered herdelicate imaginings; it was the social; counterpart of a motorcar, all jerks, andshe was a wisp of hay, a flower. twice she deplored the weather, twicecriticized the train service on the great northern railway.

they vigorously assented, and rushed on,and when she inquired whether there was any news of helen, her hostess was too muchoccupied in placing rothenstein to answer. the question was repeated: "i hope thatyour sister is safe in germany by now." margaret checked herself and said, "yes,thank you; i heard on tuesday." but the demon of vociferation was in her,and the next moment she was off again. "only on tuesday, for they live right awayat stettin. did you ever know any one living atstettin?" "never," said mrs. wilcox gravely, whileher neighbour, a young man low down in the education office, began to discuss whatpeople who lived at stettin ought to look

like. was there such a thing as stettininity?margaret swept on. "people at stettin drop things into boatsout of overhanging warehouses. at least, our cousins do, but aren'tparticularly rich. the town isn't interesting, except for aclock that rolls its eyes, and the view of the oder, which truly is something special. oh, mrs. wilcox, you would love the oder!the river, or rather rivers--there seem to be dozens of them--are intense blue, andthe plain they run through an intensest green."

"indeed!that sounds like a most beautiful view, miss schlegel.""so i say, but helen, who will muddle things, says no, it's like music. the course of the oder is to be like music.it's obliged to remind her of a symphonic poem. the part by the landing-stage is in bminor, if i remember rightly, but lower down things get extremely mixed. there is a slodgy theme in several keys atonce, meaning mud-banks, and another for the navigable canal, and the exit into thebaltic is in c sharp major, pianissimo."

"what do the overhanging warehouses make ofthat?" asked the man, laughing. "they make a great deal of it," repliedmargaret, unexpectedly rushing off on a new track. "i think it's affectation to compare theoder to music, and so do you, but the overhanging warehouses of stettin takebeauty seriously, which we don't, and the average englishman doesn't, and despisesall who do. now don't say 'germans have no taste,' or ishall scream. they haven't. but--but--such a tremendous but!--they take poetry seriously.

they do take poetry seriously."is anything gained by that?" "yes, yes. the german is always on the lookout forbeauty. he may miss it through stupidity, ormisinterpret it, but he is always asking beauty to enter his life, and i believethat in the end it will come. at heidelberg i met a fat veterinarysurgeon whose voice broke with sobs as he repeated some mawkish poetry. so easy for me to laugh--i, who neverrepeat poetry, good or bad, and cannot remember one fragment of verse to thrillmyself with.

my blood boils--well, i'm half german, soput it down to patriotism--when i listen to the tasteful contempt of the averageislander for things teutonic, whether they're bocklin or my veterinary surgeon. 'oh, bocklin,' they say; 'he strains afterbeauty, he peoples nature with gods too consciously.' of course bocklin strains, because he wantssomething--beauty and all the other intangible gifts that are floating aboutthe world. so his landscapes don't come off, andleader's do." "i am not sure that i agree.do you?" said he, turning to mrs. wilcox.

she replied: "i think miss schlegel putseverything splendidly"; and a chill fell on the conversation."oh, mrs. wilcox, say something nicer than that. it's such a snub to be told you put thingssplendidly." "i do not mean it as a snub.your last speech interested me so much. generally people do not seem quite to likegermany. i have long wanted to hear what is said onthe other side." "the other side? then you do disagree.oh, good!

give us your side.""i have no side. but my husband"--her voice softened, thechill increased--"has very little faith in the continent, and our children have alltaken after him." "on what grounds? do they feel that the continent is in badform?" mrs. wilcox had no idea; she paid littleattention to grounds. she was not intellectual, nor even alert,and it was odd that, all the same, she should give the idea of greatness. margaret, zigzagging with her friends overthought and art, was conscious of a

personality that transcended their own anddwarfed their activities. there was no bitterness in mrs. wilcox;there was not even criticism; she was lovable, and no ungracious or uncharitableword had passed her lips. yet she and daily life were out of focus:one or the other must show blurred. and at lunch she seemed more out of focusthan usual, and nearer the line that divides life from a life that may be ofgreater importance. "you will admit, though, that thecontinent--it seems silly to speak of 'the continent,' but really it is all more likeitself than any part of it is like england. england is unique.

do have another jelly first.i was going to say that the continent, for good or for evil, is interested in ideas. its literature and art have what one mightcall the kink of the unseen about them, and this persists even through decadence andaffectation. there is more liberty of action in england,but for liberty of thought go to bureaucratic prussia. people will there discuss with humilityvital questions that we here think ourselves too good to touch with tongs." "i do not want to go to prussian" said mrs.wilcox--"not even to see that interesting

view that you were describing.and for discussing with humility i am too old. we never discuss anything at howards end.""then you ought to!" said margaret. "discussion keeps a house alive.it cannot stand by bricks and mortar alone." "it cannot stand without them," said mrs.wilcox, unexpectedly catching on to the thought, and rousing, for the first andlast time, a faint hope in the breasts of the delightful people. "it cannot stand without them, and isometimes think--but i cannot expect your

generation to agree, for even my daughterdisagrees with me here." "never mind us or her. do say!""i sometimes think that it is wiser to leave action and discussion to men."there was a little silence. "one admits that the arguments against thesuffrage are extraordinarily strong," said a girl opposite, leaning forward andcrumbling her bread. "are they? i never follow any arguments.i am only too thankful not to have a vote myself.""we didn't mean the vote, though, did we?"

supplied margaret. "aren't we differing on something muchwider, mrs. wilcox? whether women are to remain what they havebeen since the dawn of history; or whether, since men have moved forward so far, theytoo may move forward a little now. i say they may. i would even admit a biological change.""i don't know, i don't know." "i must be getting back to my overhangingwarehouse," said the man. "they've turned disgracefully strict. mrs. wilcox also rose."oh, but come upstairs for a little.

miss quested plays.do you like macdowell? do you mind him only having two noises? if you must really go, i'll see you out.won't you even have coffee?" they left the dining-room, closing the doorbehind them, and as mrs. wilcox buttoned up her jacket, she said: "what an interestinglife you all lead in london!" "no, we don't," said margaret, with asudden revulsion. "we lead the lives of gibbering monkeys.mrs. wilcox--really--we have something quiet and stable at the bottom. we really have.all my friends have.

don't pretend you enjoyed lunch, for youloathed it, but forgive me by coming again, alone, or by asking me to you." "i am used to young people," said mrs.wilcox, and with each word she spoke the outlines of known things grew dim."i hear a great deal of chatter at home, for we, like you, entertain a great deal. with us it is more sport and politics, but--i enjoyed my lunch very much, miss schlegel, dear, and am not pretending, andonly wish i could have joined in more. for one thing, i'm not particularly welljust today. for another, you younger people move soquickly that it dazes me.

charles is the same, dolly the same. but we are all in the same boat, old andyoung. i never forget that."they were silent for a moment. then, with a newborn emotion, they shookhands. the conversation ceased suddenly whenmargaret re-entered the dining-room: her friends had been talking over her newfriend, and had dismissed her as uninteresting. howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 10 several days passed.was mrs. wilcox one of the unsatisfactory

people--there are many of them--who dangleintimacy and then withdraw it? they evoke our interests and affections,and keep the life of the spirit dawdling round them.then they withdraw. when physical passion is involved, there isa definite name for such behaviour-- flirting--and if carried far enough it ispunishable by law. but no law--not public opinion even--punishes those who coquette with friendship, though the dull ache that theyinflict, the sense of misdirected effort and exhaustion, may be as intolerable. was she one of these?margaret feared so at first, for, with a

londoner's impatience, she wantedeverything to be settled up immediately. she mistrusted the periods of quiet thatare essential to true growth. desiring to book mrs. wilcox as a friend,she pressed on the ceremony, pencil, as it were, in hand, pressing the more becausethe rest of the family were away, and the opportunity seemed favourable. but the elder woman would not be hurried.she refused to fit in with the wickham place set, or to reopen discussion of helenand paul, whom margaret would have utilized as a short-cut. she took her time, or perhaps let time takeher, and when the crisis did come all was

ready.the crisis opened with a message: would miss schlegel come shopping? christmas was nearing, and mrs. wilcox feltbehind-hand with the presents. she had taken some more days in bed, andmust make up for lost time. margaret accepted, and at eleven o'clockone cheerless morning they started out in a brougham. "first of all," began margaret, "we mustmake a list and tick off the people's names.my aunt always does, and this fog may thicken up any moment.

have you any ideas?""i thought we would go to harrod's or the haymarket stores," said mrs. wilcox ratherhopelessly. "everything is sure to be there. i am not a good shopper.the din is so confusing, and your aunt is quite right--one ought to make a list.take my notebook, then, and write your own name at the top of the page." "oh, hooray!" said margaret, writing it."how very kind of you to start with me!" but she did not want to receive anythingexpensive. their acquaintance was singular rather thanintimate, and she divined that the wilcox

clan would resent any expenditure onoutsiders; the more compact families do. she did not want to be thought a secondhelen, who would snatch presents since she could not snatch young men, nor to beexposed, like a second aunt juley, to the insults of charles. a certain austerity of demeanour was best,and she added: "i don't really want a yuletide gift, though.in fact, i'd rather not." "why?" "because i've odd ideas about christmas.because i have all that money can buy. i want more people, but no more things."

"i should like to give you something worthyour acquaintance, miss schlegel, in memory of your kindness to me during my lonelyfortnight. it has so happened that i have been leftalone, and you have stopped me from brooding.i am too apt to brood." "if that is so," said margaret, "if i havehappened to be of use to you, which i didn't know, you cannot pay me back withanything tangible." " i suppose not, but one would like to. perhaps i shall think of something as we goabout." her name remained at the head of the list,but nothing was written opposite it.

they drove from shop to shop. the air was white, and when they alightedit tasted like cold pennies. at times they passed through a clot ofgrey. mrs. wilcox's vitality was low thatmorning, and it was margaret who decided on a horse for this little girl, a golliwogfor that, for the rector's wife a copper warming-tray. "we always give the servants money." "yes, do you, yes, much easier," repliedmargaret, but felt the grotesque impact of the unseen upon the seen, and saw issuingfrom a forgotten manger at bethlehem this

torrent of coins and toys. vulgarity reigned. public-houses, besides their usualexhortation against temperance reform, invited men to "join our christmas gooseclub"--one bottle of gin, etc., or two, according to subscription. a poster of a woman in tights heralded thechristmas pantomime, and little red devils, who had come in again that year, wereprevalent upon the christmas-cards. margaret was no morbid idealist. she did not wish this spate of business andself-advertisement checked.

it was only the occasion of it that struckher with amazement annually. how many of these vacillating shoppers andtired shop-assistants realized that it was a divine event that drew them together?she realized it, though standing outside in the matter. she was not a christian in the acceptedsense; she did not believe that god had ever worked among us as a young artisan.these people, or most of them, believed it, and if pressed, would affirm it in words. but the visible signs of their belief wereregent street or drury lane, a little mud displaced, a little money spent, a littlefood cooked, eaten, and forgotten.

inadequate. but in public who shall express the unseenadequately? it is private life that holds out themirror to infinity; personal intercourse, and that alone, that ever hints at apersonality beyond our daily vision. "no, i do like christmas on the whole," sheannounced. "in its clumsy way, it does approach peaceand goodwill. but oh, it is clumsier every year." "is it?i am only used to country christmases." "we are usually in london, and play thegame with vigour--carols at the abbey,

clumsy midday meal, clumsy dinner for themaids, followed by christmas-tree and dancing of poor children, with songs fromhelen. the drawing-room does very well for that. we put the tree in the powder-closet, anddraw a curtain when the candles are lighted, and with the looking-glass behindit looks quite pretty. i wish we might have a powder-closet in ournext house. of course, the tree has to be very small,and the presents don't hang on it. no; the presents reside in a sort of rockylandscape made of crumpled brown paper." "you spoke of your 'next house,' missschlegel.

then are you leaving wickham place?" "yes, in two or three years, when the leaseexpires. we must.""have you been there long?" "all our lives." "you will be very sorry to leave it.""i suppose so. we scarcely realize it yet. my father--" she broke off, for they hadreached the stationery department of the haymarket stores, and mrs. wilcox wanted toorder some private greeting cards. "if possible, something distinctive," shesighed.

at the counter she found a friend, bent onthe same errand, and conversed with her insipidly, wasting much time. "my husband and our daughter are motoring.""bertha too? oh, fancy, what a coincidence!"margaret, though not practical, could shine in such company as this. while they talked, she went through avolume of specimen cards, and submitted one for mrs. wilcox's inspection. mrs. wilcox was delighted--so original,words so sweet; she would order a hundred like that, and could never be sufficientlygrateful.

then, just as the assistant was booking theorder, she said: "do you know, i'll wait. on second thoughts, i'll wait.there's plenty of time still, isn't there, and i shall be able to get evie's opinion." they returned to the carriage by deviouspaths; when they were in, she said, "but couldn't you get it renewed?""i beg your pardon?" asked margaret. "the lease, i mean." "oh, the lease!have you been thinking of that all the time?how very kind of you!" "surely something could be done."

"no; values have risen too enormously.they mean to pull down wickham place, and build flats like yours.""but how horrible!" "landlords are horrible." then she said vehemently: "it is monstrous,miss schlegel; it isn't right. i had no idea that this was hanging overyou. i do pity you from the bottom of my heart. to be parted from your house, your father'shouse--it oughtn't to be allowed. it is worse than dying.i would rather die than--oh, poor girls! can what they call civilization be right,if people mayn't die in the room where they

were born?my dear, i am so sorry--" margaret did not know what to say. mrs. wilcox had been overtired by theshopping, and was inclined to hysteria. "howards end was nearly pulled down once.it would have killed me." "howards end must be a very different houseto ours. we are fond of ours, but there is nothingdistinctive about it. as you saw, it is an ordinary london house. we shall easily find another.""so you think." "again my lack of experience, i suppose!"said margaret, easing away from the

subject. "i can't say anything when you take up thatline, mrs. wilcox. i wish i could see myself as you see me--foreshortened into a backfisch. quite the ingenue. very charming--wonderfully well read for myage, but incapable--" mrs. wilcox would not be deterred."come down with me to howards end now," she said, more vehemently than ever. "i want you to see it.you have never seen it. i want to hear what you say about it, foryou do put things so wonderfully."

margaret glanced at the pitiless air andthen at the tired face of her companion. "later on i should love it," she continued,"but it's hardly the weather for such an expedition, and we ought to start whenwe're fresh. isn't the house shut up, too?" she received no answer.mrs. wilcox appeared to be annoyed. "might i come some other day?"mrs. wilcox bent forward and tapped the glass. "back to wickham place, please!" was herorder to the coachman. margaret had been snubbed."a thousand thanks, miss schlegel, for all

your help." "not at all.""it is such a comfort to get the presents off my mind--the christmas-cardsespecially. i do admire your choice." it was her turn to receive no answer.in her turn margaret became annoyed. "my husband and evie will be back the dayafter tomorrow. that is why i dragged you out shoppingtoday. i stayed in town chiefly to shop, but gotthrough nothing, and now he writes that they must cut their tour short, the weatheris so bad, and the police-traps have been

so bad--nearly as bad as in surrey. ours is such a careful chauffeur, and myhusband feels it particularly hard that they should be treated like roadhogs.""why?" "well, naturally he--he isn't a road-hog." "he was exceeding the speed-limit, iconclude. he must expect to suffer with the loweranimals." mrs. wilcox was silenced. in growing discomfort they drove homewards.the city seemed satanic, the narrower streets oppressing like the galleries of amine.

no harm was done by the fog to trade, forit lay high, and the lighted windows of the shops were thronged with customers. it was rather a darkening of the spiritwhich fell back upon itself, to find a more grievous darkness within.margaret nearly spoke a dozen times, but something throttled her. she felt petty and awkward, and hermeditations on christmas grew more cynical. peace? it may bring other gifts, but is there asingle londoner to whom christmas is peaceful?the craving for excitement and for

elaboration has ruined that blessing. goodwill?had she seen any example of it in the hordes of purchasers?or in herself. she had failed to respond to thisinvitation merely because it was a little queer and imaginative--she, whosebirthright it was to nourish imagination! better to have accepted, to have tiredthemselves a little by the journey, than coldly to reply, "might i come some otherday?" her cynicism left her. there would be no other day.this shadowy woman would never ask her

again.they parted at the mansions. mrs. wilcox went in after due civilities,and margaret watched the tall, lonely figure sweep up the hall to the lift.as the glass doors closed on it she had the sense of an imprisonment. the beautiful head disappeared first, stillburied in the muff, the long trailing skirt followed.a woman of undefinable rarity was going up heaven-ward, like a specimen in a bottle. and into what a heaven--a vault as of hell,sooty black, from which soots descended! at lunch her brother, seeing her inclinedfor silence, insisted on talking.

tibby was not ill-natured, but frombabyhood something drove him to do the unwelcome and the unexpected.now he gave her a long account of the day- school that he sometimes patronized. the account was interesting, and she hadoften pressed him for it before, but she could not attend now, for her mind wasfocussed on the invisible. she discerned that mrs. wilcox, though aloving wife and mother, had only one passion in life--her house--and that themoment was solemn when she invited a friend to share this passion with her. to answer "another day" was to answer as afool.

"another day" will do for brick and mortar,but not for the holy of holies into which howards end had been transfigured. her own curiosity was slight.she had heard more than enough about it in the summer. the nine windows, the vine, and the wych-elm had no pleasant connections for her, and she would have preferred to spend theafternoon at a concert. but imagination triumphed. while her brother held forth she determinedto go, at whatever cost, and to compel mrs. wilcox to go, too.when lunch was over she stepped over to the

flats. mrs. wilcox had just gone away for thenight. margaret said that it was of noconsequence, hurried downstairs, and took a hansom to king's cross. she was convinced that the escapade wasimportant, though it would have puzzled her to say why. there was a question of imprisonment andescape, and though she did not know the time of the train, she strained her eyesfor the st. pancras' clock. then the clock of king's cross swung intosight, a second moon in that infernal sky,

and her cab drew up at the station.there was a train for hilton in five minutes. she took a ticket, asking in her agitationfor a single. as she did so, a grave and happy voicesaluted her and thanked her. "i will come if i still may," saidmargaret, laughing nervously. "you are coming to sleep, dear, too.it is in the morning that my house is most beautiful. you are coming to stop.i cannot show you my meadow properly except at sunrise.these fogs"--she pointed at the station

roof--"never spread far. i dare say they are sitting in the sun inhertfordshire, and you will never repent joining them."i shall never repent joining you." "it is the same." they began the walk up the long platform.far at its end stood the train, breasting the darkness without.they never reached it. before imagination could triumph, therewere cries of "mother! mother!" and a heavy-browed girl darted outof the cloak-room and seized mrs. wilcox by the arm.

"evie!" she gasped."evie, my pet--" the girl called, "father!i say! look who's here." "evie, dearest girl, why aren't you inyorkshire?" "no--motor smash--changed plans--father'scoming." "why, ruth!" cried mr. wilcox, joiningthem. "what in the name of all that's wonderfulare you doing here, ruth?" mrs. wilcox had recovered herself. "oh, henry dear!--here's a lovely surprise--but let me introduce--but i think you know missschlegel."

"oh, yes," he replied, not greatlyinterested. "but how's yourself, ruth?""fit as a fiddle," she answered gaily. "so are we and so was our car, which ran a-1 as far as ripon, but there a wretched horse and cart which a fool of a driver--""miss schlegel, our little outing must be for another day." "i was saying that this fool of a driver,as the policeman himself admits--" "another day, mrs. wilcox.of course." "--but as we've insured against third partyrisks, it won't so much matter--" "--cart and car being practically at rightangles--"

the voices of the happy family rose high. margaret was left alone.no one wanted her. mrs. wilcox walked out of king's crossbetween her husband and her daughter, listening to both of them. howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 11 the funeral was over.the carriages rolled away through the soft mud, and only the poor remained. they approached to the newly-dug shaft andlooked their last at the coffin, now almost hidden beneath the spadefuls of clay.it was their moment.

most of them were women from the deadwoman's district, to whom black garments had been served out by mr. wilcox's orders.pure curiosity had brought others. they thrilled with the excitement of adeath, and of a rapid death, and stood in groups or moved between the graves, likedrops of ink. the son of one of them, a wood-cutter, wasperched high above their heads, pollarding one of the churchyard elms. from where he sat he could see the villageof hilton, strung upon the north road, with its accreting suburbs; the sunset beyond,scarlet and orange, winking at him beneath brows of grey; the church; the plantations;

and behind him an unspoilt country offields and farms. but he, too, was rolling the eventluxuriously in his mouth. he tried to tell his mother down below allthat he had felt when he saw the coffin approaching: how he could not leave hiswork, and yet did not like to go on with it; how he had almost slipped out of the tree, he was so upset; the rooks had cawed,and no wonder--it was as if rooks knew too. his mother claimed the prophetic powerherself--she had seen a strange look about mrs. wilcox for some time. london had done the mischief, said others.she had been a kind lady; her grandmother

had been kind, too--a plainer person, butvery kind. ah, the old sort was dying out! mr. wilcox, he was a kind gentleman.they advanced to the topic again and again, dully, but with exaltation. the funeral of a rich person was to themwhat the funeral of alcestis or ophelia is to the educated. it was art; though remote from life, itenhanced life's values, and they witnessed it avidly. the grave-diggers, who had kept up anundercurrent of disapproval--they disliked

charles; it was not a moment to speak ofsuch things, but they did not like charles wilcox--the grave-diggers finished their work and piled up the wreaths and crossesabove it. the sun set over hilton: the grey brows ofthe evening flushed a little, and were cleft with one scarlet frown. chattering sadly to each other, themourners passed through the lych-gate and traversed the chestnut avenues that leddown to the village. the young wood-cutter stayed a littlelonger, poised above the silence and swaying rhythmically.at last the bough fell beneath his saw.

with a grunt, he descended, his thoughtsdwelling no longer on death, but on love, for he was mating. he stopped as he passed the new grave; asheaf of tawny chrysanthemums had caught his eye."they didn't ought to have coloured flowers at buryings," he reflected. trudging on a few steps, he stopped again,looked furtively at the dusk, turned back, wrenched a chrysanthemum from the sheaf,and hid it in his pocket. after him came silence absolute. the cottage that abutted on the churchyardwas empty, and no other house stood near.

hour after hour the scene of the intermentremained without an eye to witness it. clouds drifted over it from the west; orthe church may have been a ship, high- prowed, steering with all its companytowards infinity. towards morning the air grew colder, thesky clearer, the surface of the earth hard and sparkling above the prostrate dead. the wood-cutter, returning after a night ofjoy, reflected: "they lilies, they chrysants; it's a pity i didn't take themall." up at howards end they were attemptingbreakfast. charles and evie sat in the dining-room,with mrs. charles.

their father, who could not bear to see aface, breakfasted upstairs. he suffered acutely. pain came over him in spasms, as if it wasphysical, and even while he was about to eat, his eyes would fill with tears, and hewould lay down the morsel untasted. he remembered his wife's even goodnessduring thirty years. not anything in detail--not courtship orearly raptures--but just the unvarying virtue, that seemed to him a woman'snoblest quality. so many women are capricious, breaking intoodd flaws of passion or frivolity. not so his wife.

year after year, summer and winter, asbride and mother, she had been the same, he had always trusted her.her tenderness! her innocence! the wonderful innocence that was hers bythe gift of god. ruth knew no more of worldly wickedness andwisdom than did the flowers in her garden, or the grass in her field. her idea of business--"henry, why do peoplewho have enough money try to get more money?" her idea of politics--"i am sure that ifthe mothers of various nations could meet,

there would be no more wars."her idea of religion--ah, this had been a cloud, but a cloud that passed. she came of quaker stock, and he and hisfamily, formerly dissenters, were now members of the church of england. the rector's sermons had at first repelledher, and she had expressed a desire for "a more inward light," adding, "not so muchfor myself as for baby" (charles). inward light must have been granted, for heheard no complaints in later years. they brought up their three childrenwithout dispute. they had never disputed.

she lay under the earth now.she had gone, and as if to make her going the more bitter, had gone with a touch ofmystery that was all unlike her. "why didn't you tell me you knew of it?" hehad moaned, and her faint voice had answered: "i didn't want to, henry--i mighthave been wrong--and every one hates illnesses." he had been told of the horror by a strangedoctor, whom she had consulted during his absence from town.was this altogether just? without fully explaining, she had died. it was a fault on her part, and--tearsrushed into his eyes--what a little fault!

it was the only time she had deceived himin those thirty years. he rose to his feet and looked out of thewindow, for evie had come in with the letters, and he could meet no one's eye.ah yes--she had been a good woman--she had been steady. he chose the word deliberately.to him steadiness included all praise. he himself, gazing at the wintry garden, isin appearance a steady man. his face was not as square as his son's,and, indeed, the chin, though firm enough in outline, retreated a little, and thelips, ambiguous, were curtained by a moustache.

but there was no external hint of weakness.the eyes, if capable of kindness and goodfellowship, if ruddy for the momentwith tears, were the eyes of one who could not be driven. the forehead, too, was like charles's.high and straight, brown and polished, merging abruptly into temples and skull, ithas the effect of a bastion that protected his head from the world. at times it had the effect of a blank wall.he had dwelt behind it, intact and happy, for fifty years."the post's come, father," said evie awkwardly.

"thanks.put it down." "has the breakfast been all right?""yes, thanks." the girl glanced at him and at it withconstraint. she did not know what to do."charles says do you want the times?" "no, i'll read it later." "ring if you want anything, father, won'tyou?" "i've all i want." having sorted the letters from thecirculars, she went back to the dining- room.

"father's eaten nothing," she announced,sitting down with wrinkled brows behind the tea-urn-- charles did not answer, but after a momenthe ran quickly upstairs, opened the door, and said: "look here, father, you must eat,you know"; and having paused for a reply that did not come, stole down again. "he's going to read his letters first, ithink," he said evasively; "i dare say he will go on with his breakfast afterwards." then he took up the times, and for sometime there was no sound except the clink of cup against saucer and of knife on plate.

poor mrs. charles sat between her silentcompanions, terrified at the course of events, and a little bored.she was a rubbishy little creature, and she knew it. a telegram had dragged her from naples tothe death-bed of a woman whom she had scarcely known.a word from her husband had plunged her into mourning. she desired to mourn inwardly as well, butshe wished that mrs. wilcox, since fated to die, could have died before the marriage,for then less would have been expected of her.

crumbling her toast, and too nervous to askfor the butter, she remained almost motionless, thankful only for this, thather father-in-law was having his breakfast upstairs. at last charles spoke."they had no business to be pollarding those elms yesterday," he said to hissister. "no indeed." "i must make a note of that," he continued."i am surprised that the rector allowed it.""perhaps it may not be the rector's affair."

"whose else could it be?""the lord of the manor." "impossible.""butter, dolly?" "thank you, evie dear. charles--""yes, dear?" "i didn't know one could pollard elms.i thought one only pollarded willows." "oh no, one can pollard elms." "then why oughtn't the elms in thechurchyard to be pollarded?" charles frowned a little, and turned againto his sister. "another point.

i must speak to chalkeley.""yes, rather; you must complain to chalkeley."it's no good him saying he is not responsible for those men. he is responsible.""yes, rather." brother and sister were not callous. they spoke thus, partly because theydesired to keep chalkeley up to the mark--a healthy desire in its way--partly becausethey avoided the personal note in life. all wilcoxes did. it did not seem to them of supremeimportance.

or it may be as helen supposed: theyrealized its importance, but were afraid of it. panic and emptiness, could one glancebehind. they were not callous, and they left thebreakfast-table with aching hearts. their mother never had come in tobreakfast. it was in the other rooms, and especiallyin the garden, that they felt her loss most. as charles went out to the garage, he wasreminded at every step of the woman who had loved him and whom he could never replace.what battles he had fought against her

gentle conservatism! how she had disliked improvements, yet howloyally she had accepted them when made! he and his father--what trouble they hadhad to get this very garage! with what difficulty had they persuaded herto yield them to the paddock for it--the paddock that she loved more dearly than thegarden itself! the vine--she had got her way about thevine. it still encumbered the south wall with itsunproductive branches. and so with evie, as she stood talking tothe cook. though she could take up her mother's workinside the house, just as the man could

take it up without, she felt that somethingunique had fallen out of her life. their grief, though less poignant thantheir father's, grew from deeper roots, for a wife may be replaced; a mother never.charles would go back to the office. there was little to do at howards end. the contents of his mother's will had beenlong known to them. there were no legacies, no annuities, noneof the posthumous bustle with which some of the dead prolong their activities. trusting her husband, she had left himeverything without reserve. she was quite a poor woman--the house hadbeen all her dowry, and the house would

come to charles in time. her water-colours mr. wilcox intended toreserve for paul, while evie would take the jewellery and lace.how easily she slipped out of life! charles thought the habit laudable, thoughhe did not intend to adopt it himself, whereas margaret would have seen in it analmost culpable indifference to earthly fame. cynicism--not the superficial cynicism thatsnarls and sneers, but the cynicism that can go with courtesy and tenderness--thatwas the note of mrs. wilcox's will. she wanted not to vex people.

that accomplished, the earth might freezeover her for ever. no, there was nothing for charles to waitfor. he could not go on with his honeymoon, sohe would go up to london and work--he felt too miserable hanging about. he and dolly would have the furnished flatwhile his father rested quietly in the country with evie. he could also keep an eye on his own littlehouse, which was being painted and decorated for him in one of the surreysuburbs, and in which he hoped to install himself soon after christmas.

yes, he would go up after lunch in his newmotor, and the town servants, who had come down for the funeral, would go up by train. he found his father's chauffeur in thegarage, said, "morning" without looking at the man's face, and, bending over the car,continued: "hullo! my new car's been driven!" "has it, sir?""yes," said charles, getting rather red; "and whoever's driven it hasn't cleaned itproperly, for there's mud on the axle. take it off." the man went for the cloths without a word.

he was a chauffeur as ugly as sin--not thatthis did him disservice with charles, who thought charm in a man rather rot, and hadsoon got rid of the little italian beast with whom they had started. "charles--" his bride was tripping afterhim over the hoar-frost, a dainty black column, her little face and elaboratemourning hat forming the capital thereof. "one minute, i'm busy. well, crane, who's been driving it, do yousuppose?" "don't know, i'm sure, sir. no one's driven it since i've been back,but, of course, there's the fortnight i've

been away with the other car in yorkshire."the mud came off easily. "charles, your father's down. something's happened.he wants you in the house at once. oh, charles!""wait, dear, wait a minute. who had the key to the garage while youwere away, crane?" "the gardener, sir.""do you mean to tell me that old penny can drive a motor?" "no, sir; no one's had the motor out, sir.""then how do you account for the mud on the axle?""i can't, of course, say for the time i've

been in yorkshire. no more mud now, sir."charles was vexed. the man was treating him as a fool, and ifhis heart had not been so heavy he would have reported him to his father. but it was not a morning for complaints.ordering the motor to be round after lunch, he joined his wife, who had all the whilebeen pouring out some incoherent story about a letter and a miss schlegel. "now, dolly, i can attend to you.miss schlegel? what does she want?"when people wrote a letter charles always

asked what they wanted. want was to him the only cause of action.and the question in this case was correct, for his wife replied, "she wants howardsend." "howards end? now, crane, just don't forget to put on thestepney wheel." "no, sir.""now, mind you don't forget, for i--come, little woman." when they were out of the chauffeur's sighthe put his arm around her waist and pressed her against him.

all his affection and half his attention--it was what he granted her throughout their happy married life."but you haven't listened, charles--" "what's wrong?" "i keep on telling you--howards end.miss schlegels got it." "got what?" asked charles, unclasping her."what the dickens are you talking about?" "now, charles, you promised not to saythose naughty--" "look here, i'm in no mood for foolery.it's no morning for it either." "i tell you--i keep on telling you--missschlegel--she's got it--your mother's left it to her--and you've all got to move out!""howards end?"

"howards end!" she screamed, mimicking him,and as she did so evie came dashing out of the shrubbery."dolly, go back at once! my father's much annoyed with you. charles"--she hit herself wildly--"come inat once to father. he's had a letter that's too awful."charles began to run, but checked himself, and stepped heavily across the gravel path. there the house was--the nine windows, theunprolific vine. he exclaimed, "schlegels again!" and as ifto complete chaos, dolly said, "oh no, the matron of the nursing home has writteninstead of her."

"come in, all three of you!" cried hisfather, no longer inert. "dolly, why have you disobeyed me?""oh, mr. wilcox--" "i told you not to go out to the garage. i've heard you all shouting in the garden.i won't have it. come in."he stood in the porch, transformed, letters in his hand. "into the dining-room, every one of you.we can't discuss private matters in the middle of all the servants.here, charles, here; read these. see what you make."

charles took two letters, and read them ashe followed the procession. the first was a covering note from thematron. mrs. wilcox had desired her, when thefuneral should be over, to forward the enclosed.the enclosed--it was from his mother herself. she had written: "to my husband: i shouldlike miss schlegel (margaret) to have howards end.""i suppose we're going to have a talk about this?" he remarked, ominously calm. "certainly.i was coming out to you when dolly--"

"well, let's sit down.""come, evie, don't waste time, sit down." in silence they drew up to the breakfast-table. the events of yesterday--indeed, of thismorning--suddenly receded into a past so remote that they seemed scarcely to havelived in it. heavy breathings were heard. they were calming themselves.charles, to steady them further, read the enclosure out loud: "a note in my mother'shandwriting, in an envelope addressed to my father, sealed. inside: 'i should like miss schlegel(margaret) to have howards end.'

no date, no signature.forwarded through the matron of that nursing home. now, the question is--"dolly interrupted him. "but i say that note isn't legal.houses ought to be done by a lawyer, charles, surely." her husband worked his jaw severely.little lumps appeared in front of either ear--a symptom that she had not yet learntto respect, and she asked whether she might see the note. charles looked at his father forpermission, who said abstractedly, "give it

her."she seized it, and at once exclaimed: "why, it's only in pencil! i said so.pencil never counts." "we know that it is not legally binding,dolly," said mr. wilcox, speaking from out of his fortress. "we are aware of that.legally, i should be justified in tearing it up and throwing it into the fire. of course, my dear, we consider you as oneof the family, but it will be better if you do not interfere with what you do notunderstand."

charles, vexed both with his father and hiswife, then repeated: "the question is--" he had cleared a space of the breakfast-tablefrom plates and knives, so that he could draw patterns on the tablecloth. "the question is whether miss schlegel,during the fortnight we were all away, whether she unduly--" he stopped."i don't think that," said his father, whose nature was nobler than his son's "don't think what?""that she would have--that it is a case of undue influence.no, to my mind the question is the--the invalid's condition at the time she wrote."

"my dear father, consult an expert if youlike, but i don't admit it is my mother's writing.""why, you just said it was!" cried dolly. "never mind if i did," he blazed out; "andhold your tongue." the poor little wife coloured at this, and,drawing her handkerchief from her pocket, shed a few tears. no one noticed her.evie was scowling like an angry boy. the two men were gradually assuming themanner of the committee-room. they were both at their best when servingon committees. they did not make the mistake of handlinghuman affairs in the bulk, but disposed of

them item by item, sharply. calligraphy was the item before them now,and on it they turned their well-trained brains. charles, after a little demur, accepted thewriting as genuine, and they passed on to the next point.it is the best--perhaps the only--way of dodging emotion. they were the average human article, andhad they considered the note as a whole it would have driven them miserable or mad. considered item by item, the emotionalcontent was minimized, and all went forward

smoothly. the clock ticked, the coals blazed higher,and contended with the white radiance that poured in through the windows. unnoticed, the sun occupied his sky, andthe shadows of the tree stems, extraordinarily solid, fell like trenchesof purple across the frosted lawn. it was a glorious winter morning. evie's fox terrier, who had passed forwhite, was only a dirty grey dog now, so intense was the purity that surrounded him. he was discredited, but the blackbirds thathe was chasing glowed with arabian

darkness, for all the conventionalcolouring of life had been altered. inside, the clock struck ten with a richand confident note. other clocks confirmed it, and thediscussion moved towards its close. to follow it is unnecessary. it is rather a moment when the commentatorshould step forward. ought the wilcoxes to have offered theirhome to margaret? i think not. the appeal was too flimsy. it was not legal; it had been written inillness, and under the spell of a sudden

friendship; it was contrary to the deadwoman's intentions in the past, contrary to her very nature, so far as that nature wasunderstood by them. to them howards end was a house: they couldnot know that to her it had been a spirit, for which she sought a spiritual heir. and--pushing one step farther in thesemists--may they not have decided even better than they supposed?is it credible that the possessions of the spirit can be bequeathed at all? has the soul offspring?a wych-elm tree, a vine, a wisp of hay with dew on it--can passion for such things betransmitted where there is no bond of

blood? no; the wilcoxes are not to be blamed.the problem is too terrific, and they could not even perceive a problem. no; it is natural and fitting that afterdue debate they should tear the note up and throw it on to their dining-room fire.the practical moralist may acquit them absolutely. he who strives to look deeper may acquitthem--almost. for one hard fact remains.they did neglect a personal appeal. the woman who had died did say to them, "dothis," and they answered, "we will not."

the incident made a most painful impressionon them. grief mounted into the brain and workedthere disquietingly. yesterday they had lamented: "she was adear mother, a true wife: in our absence she neglected her health and died." today they thought: "she was not as true,as dear, as we supposed." the desire for a more inward light hadfound expression at last, the unseen had impacted on the seen, and all that theycould say was "treachery." mrs. wilcox had been treacherous to thefamily, to the laws of property, to her own written word.how did she expect howards end to be

conveyed to miss schlegel? was her husband, to whom it legallybelonged, to make it over to her as a free gift?was the said miss schlegel to have a life interest in it, or to own it absolutely? was there to be no compensation for thegarage and other improvements that they had made under the assumption that all would betheirs some day? treacherous! treacherous and absurd! when we think the dead both treacherous andabsurd, we have gone far towards reconciling ourselves to their departure.

that note, scribbled in pencil, sentthrough the matron, was unbusinesslike as well as cruel, and decreased at once thevalue of the woman who had written it. "ah, well!" said mr. wilcox, rising fromthe table. "i shouldn't have thought it possible.""mother couldn't have meant it," said evie, still frowning. "no, my girl, of course not.""mother believed so in ancestors too--it isn't like her to leave anything to anoutsider, who'd never appreciate." "the whole thing is unlike her," heannounced. "if miss schlegel had been poor, if she hadwanted a house, i could understand it a

little. but she has a house of her own.why should she want another? she wouldn't have any use of howards end.""that time may prove," murmured charles. "how?" asked his sister. "presumably she knows--mother will havetold her. she got twice or three times into thenursing home. presumably she is awaiting developments." "what a horrid woman!"and dolly, who had recovered, cried, "why, she may be coming down to turn us out now!"charles put her right.

"i wish she would," he said ominously. "i could then deal with her.""so could i," echoed his father, who was feeling rather in the cold. charles had been kind in undertaking thefuneral arrangements and in telling him to eat his breakfast, but the boy as he grewup was a little dictatorial, and assumed the post of chairman too readily. "i could deal with her, if she comes, butshe won't come. you're all a bit hard on miss schlegel.""that paul business was pretty scandalous, though."

"i want no more of the paul business,charles, as i said at the time, and besides, it is quite apart from thisbusiness. margaret schlegel has been officious andtiresome during this terrible week, and we have all suffered under her, but upon mysoul she's honest. she's not in collusion with the matron. i'm absolutely certain of it.nor was she with the doctor. i'm equally certain of that. she did not hide anything from us, for upto that very afternoon she was as ignorant as we are.she, like ourselves, was a dupe--" he

stopped for a moment. "you see, charles, in her terrible painyour poor mother put us all in false positions. paul would not have left england, you wouldnot have gone to italy, nor evie and i into yorkshire, if only we had known.well, miss schlegel's position has been equally false. take all in all, she has not come out of itbadly." evie said: "but those chrysanthemums--""or coming down to the funeral at all--" echoed dolly.

"why shouldn't she come down?she had the right to, and she stood far back among the hilton women. the flowers--certainly we should not havesent such flowers, but they may have seemed the right thing to her, evie, and for allyou know they may be the custom in germany." "oh, i forget she isn't really english,"cried evie. "that would explain a lot.""she's a cosmopolitan," said charles, looking at his watch. "i admit i'm rather down on cosmopolitans.my fault, doubtless.

i cannot stand them, and a germancosmopolitan is the limit. i think that's about all, isn't it? i want to run down and see chalkeley.a bicycle will do. and, by the way, i wish you'd speak tocrane some time. i'm certain he's had my new car out." "has he done it any harm?""no." "in that case i shall let it pass.it's not worth while having a row." charles and his father sometimes disagreed. but they always parted with an increasedregard for one another, and each desired no

doughtier comrade when it was necessary tovoyage for a little past the emotions. so the sailors of ulysses voyaged past thesirens, having first stopped one another's ears with wool. howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 12 charles need not have been anxious.miss schlegel had never heard of his mother's strange request. she was to hear of it in after years, whenshe had built up her life differently, and it was to fit into position as theheadstone of the corner. her mind was bent on other questions now,and by her also it would have been rejected

as the fantasy of an invalid.she was parting from these wilcoxes for the second time. paul and his mother, ripple and great wave,had flowed into her life and ebbed out of it for ever. the ripple had left no traces behind: thewave had strewn at her feet fragments torn from the unknown. a curious seeker, she stood for a while atthe verge of the sea that tells so little, but tells a little, and watched theoutgoing of this last tremendous tide. her friend had vanished in agony, but not,she believed, in degradation.

her withdrawal had hinted at other thingsbesides disease and pain. some leave our life with tears, others withan insane frigidity; mrs. wilcox had taken the middle course, which only rarer naturescan pursue. she had kept proportion. she had told a little of her grim secret toher friends, but not too much; she had shut up her heart--almost, but not entirely. it is thus, if there is any rule, that weought to die--neither as victim nor as fanatic, but as the seafarer who can greetwith an equal eye the deep that he is entering, and the shore that he must leave.

the last word--whatever it would be--hadcertainly not been said in hilton churchyard.she had not died there. a funeral is not death, any more thanbaptism is birth or marriage union. all three are the clumsy devices, comingnow too late, now too early, by which society would register the quick motions ofman. in margaret's eyes mrs. wilcox had escapedregistration. she had gone out of life vividly, her ownway, and no dust was so truly dust as the contents of that heavy coffin, lowered withceremonial until it rested on the dust of the earth, no flowers so utterly wasted as

the chrysanthemums that the frost must havewithered before morning. margaret had once said she "lovedsuperstition." it was not true. few women had tried more earnestly topierce the accretions in which body and soul are enwrapped.the death of mrs. wilcox had helped her in her work. she saw a little more clearly than hithertowhat a human being is, and to what he may aspire.truer relationships gleamed. perhaps the last word would be hope--hopeeven on this side of the grave.

meanwhile, she could take an interest inthe survivors. in spite of her christmas duties, in spiteof her brother, the wilcoxes continued to play a considerable part in her thoughts.she had seen so much of them in the final week. they were not "her sort," they were oftensuspicious and stupid, and deficient where she excelled; but collision with themstimulated her, and she felt an interest that verged into liking, even for charles. she desired to protect them, and often feltthat they could protect her, excelling where she was deficient.

once past the rocks of emotion, they knewso well what to do, whom to send for; their hands were on all the ropes, they had gritas well as grittiness, and she valued grit enormously. they led a life that she could not attainto--the outer life of "telegrams and anger," which had detonated when helen andpaul had touched in june, and had detonated again the other week. to margaret this life was to remain a realforce. she could not despise it, as helen andtibby affected to do. it fostered such virtues as neatness,decision, and obedience, virtues of the

second rank, no doubt, but they have formedour civilization. they form character, too; margaret couldnot doubt it: they keep the soul from becoming sloppy.how dare schlegels despise wilcoxes, when it takes all sorts to make a world? "don't brood too much," she wrote to helen,"on the superiority of the unseen to the seen.it's true, but to brood on it is mediaeval. our business is not to contrast the two,but to reconcile them." helen replied that she had no intention ofbrooding on such a dull subject. what did her sister take her for?

the weather was magnificent.she and the mosebachs had gone tobogganing on the only hill that pomerania boasted.it was fun, but overcrowded, for the rest of pomerania had gone there too. helen loved the country, and her letterglowed with physical exercise and poetry. she spoke of the scenery, quiet, yetaugust; of the snow-clad fields, with their scampering herds of deer; of the river andits quaint entrance into the baltic sea; of the oderberge, only three hundred feet high, from which one slid all too quicklyback into the pomeranian plains, and yet these oderberge were real mountains, withpine-forests, streams, and views complete.

"it isn't size that counts so much as theway things are arranged." in another paragraph she referred to mrs.wilcox sympathetically, but the news had not bitten into her. she had not realized the accessories ofdeath, which are in a sense more memorable than death itself. the atmosphere of precautions andrecriminations, and in the midst a human body growing more vivid because it was inpain; the end of that body in hilton churchyard; the survival of something that suggested hope, vivid in its turn againstlife's workaday cheerfulness;--all these

were lost to helen, who only felt that apleasant lady could now be pleasant no longer. she returned to wickham place full of herown affairs--she had had another proposal-- and margaret, after a moment's hesitation,was content that this should be so. the proposal had not been a serious matter. it was the work of fraulein mosebach, whohad conceived the large and patriotic notion of winning back her cousins to thefatherland by matrimony. england had played paul wilcox, and lost;germany played herr forstmeister someone-- helen could not remember his name.

herr forstmeister lived in a wood, andstanding on the summit of the oderberge, he had pointed out his house to helen, orrather, had pointed out the wedge of pines in which it lay. she had exclaimed, "oh, how lovely!that's the place for me!" and in the evening frieda appeared in her bedroom. "i have a message, dear helen," etc., andso she had, but had been very nice when helen laughed; quite understood--a foresttoo solitary and damp--quite agreed, but herr forstmeister believed he had assuranceto the contrary. germany had lost, but with good-humour;holding the manhood of the world, she felt

bound to win. "and there will even be someone for tibby,"concluded helen. "there now, tibby, think of that; frieda issaving up a little girl for you, in pig- tails and white worsted stockings, but thefeet of the stockings are pink, as if the little girl had trodden in strawberries. i've talked too much.my head aches. now you talk."tibby consented to talk. he too was full of his own affairs, for hehad just been up to try for a scholarship at oxford.

the men were down, and the candidates hadbeen housed in various colleges, and had dined in hall. tibby was sensitive to beauty, theexperience was new, and he gave a description of his visit that was almostglowing. the august and mellow university, soakedwith the richness of the western counties that it has served for a thousand years,appealed at once to the boy's taste: it was the kind of thing he could understand, and he understood it all the better because itwas empty. oxford is--oxford: not a mere receptaclefor youth, like cambridge.

perhaps it wants its inmates to love itrather than to love one another: such at all events was to be its effect on tibby. his sisters sent him there that he mightmake friends, for they knew that his education had been cranky, and had severedhim from other boys and men. he made no friends. his oxford remained oxford empty, and hetook into life with him, not the memory of a radiance, but the memory of a colourscheme. it pleased margaret to hear her brother andsister talking. they did not get on overwell as a rule.for a few moments she listened to them,

feeling elderly and benign. then something occurred to her, and sheinterrupted: "helen, i told you about poor mrs. wilcox;that sad business?" "yes." "i have had a correspondence with her son.he was winding up the estate, and wrote to ask me whether his mother had wanted me tohave anything. i thought it good of him, considering iknew her so little. i said that she had once spoken of givingme a christmas present, but we both forgot about it afterwards."

"i hope charles took the hint.""yes--that is to say, her husband wrote later on, and thanked me for being a littlekind to her, and actually gave me her silver vinaigrette. don't you think that is extraordinarilygenerous? it has made me like him very much. he hopes that this will not be the end ofour acquaintance, but that you and i will go and stop with evie some time in thefuture. i like mr. wilcox. he is taking up his work--rubber--it is abig business.

i gather he is launching out rather.charles is in it, too. charles is married--a pretty littlecreature, but she doesn't seem wise. they took on the flat, but now they havegone off to a house of their own." helen, after a decent pause, continued heraccount of stettin. how quickly a situation changes! in june she had been in a crisis; even innovember she could blush and be unnatural; now it was january, and the whole affairlay forgotten. looking back on the past six months,margaret realized the chaotic nature of our daily life, and its difference from theorderly sequence that has been fabricated

by historians. actual life is full of false clues andsign-posts that lead nowhere. with infinite effort we nerve ourselves fora crisis that never comes. the most successful career must show awaste of strength that might have removed mountains, and the most unsuccessful is notthat of the man who is taken unprepared, but of him who has prepared and is nevertaken. on a tragedy of that kind our nationalmorality is duly silent. it assumes that preparation against dangeris in itself a good, and that men, like nations, are the better for staggeringthrough life fully armed.

the tragedy of preparedness has scarcelybeen handled, save by the greeks. life is indeed dangerous, but not in theway morality would have us believe. it is indeed unmanageable, but the essenceof it is not a battle. it is unmanageable because it is a romance,and its essence is romantic beauty. margaret hoped that for the future shewould be less cautious, not more cautious, than she had been in the past. howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 13 over two years passed, and the schlegelhousehold continued to lead its life of cultured but not ignoble ease, stillswimming gracefully on the grey tides of

london. concerts and plays swept past them, moneyhad been spent and renewed, reputations won and lost, and the city herself, emblematicof their lives, rose and fell in a continual flux, while her shallows washed more widely against the hills of surrey andover the fields of hertfordshire. this famous building had arisen, that wasdoomed. today whitehall had been transformed: itwould be the turn of regent street tomorrow. and month by month the roads smelt morestrongly of petrol, and were more difficult

to cross, and human beings heard each otherspeak with greater difficulty, breathed less of the air, and saw less of the sky. nature withdrew: the leaves were falling bymidsummer; the sun shone through dirt with an admired obscurity.to speak against london is no longer fashionable. the earth as an artistic cult has had itsday, and the literature of the near future will probably ignore the country and seekinspiration from the town. one can understand the reaction. of pan and the elemental forces, the publichas heard a little too much--they seem

victorian, while london is georgian--andthose who care for the earth with sincerity may wait long ere the pendulum swings backto her again. certainly london fascinates. one visualizes it as a tract of quiveringgrey, intelligent without purpose, and excitable without love; as a spirit thathas altered before it can be chronicled; as a heart that certainly beats, but with nopulsation of humanity. it lies beyond everything: nature, with allher cruelty, comes nearer to us than do these crowds of men. a friend explains himself: the earth isexplicable--from her we came, and we must

return to her. but who can explain westminster bridge roador liverpool street in the morning--the city inhaling--or the same thoroughfares inthe evening--the city exhaling her exhausted air? we reach in desperation beyond the fog,beyond the very stars, the voids of the universe are ransacked to justify themonster, and stamped with a human face. london is religion's opportunity--not thedecorous religion of theologians, but anthropomorphic, crude. yes, the continuous flow would be tolerableif a man of our own sort--not anyone

pompous or tearful--were caring for us upin the sky. the londoner seldom understands his cityuntil it sweeps him, too, away from his moorings, and margaret's eyes were notopened until the lease of wickham place expired. she had always known that it must expire,but the knowledge only became vivid about nine months before the event.then the house was suddenly ringed with pathos. it had seen so much happiness.why had it to be swept away? in the streets of the city she noted forthe first time the architecture of hurry,

and heard the language of hurry on themouths of its inhabitants--clipped words, formless sentences, potted expressions ofapproval or disgust. month by month things were steppinglivelier, but to what goal? the population still rose, but what was thequality of the men born? the particular millionaire who owned thefreehold of wickham place, and desired to erect babylonian flats upon it--what righthad he to stir so large a portion of the quivering jelly? he was not a fool--she had heard him exposesocialism--but true insight began just where his intelligence ended, and onegathered that this was the case with most

millionaires. what right had such men--but margaretchecked herself. that way lies madness.thank goodness she, too, had some money, and could purchase a new home. tibby, now in his second year at oxford,was down for the easter vacation, and margaret took the opportunity of having aserious talk with him. did he at all know where he wanted to live? tibby didn't know that he did know.did he at all know what he wanted to do? he was equally uncertain, but when pressedremarked that he should prefer to be quite

free of any profession. margaret was not shocked, but went onsewing for a few minutes before she replied:"i was thinking of mr. vyse. he never strikes me as particularly happy." "ye-es," said tibby, and then held hismouth open in a curious quiver, as if he, too, had thoughts of mr. vyse, had seenround, through, over, and beyond mr. vyse, had weighed mr. vyse, grouped him, and finally dismissed him as having no possiblebearing on the subject under discussion. that bleat of tibby's infuriated helen.but helen was now down in the dining-room

preparing a speech about political economy. at times her voice could be hearddeclaiming through the floor. "but mr. vyse is rather a wretched, weedyman, don't you think? then there's guy. that was a pitiful business.besides"--shifting to the general--" every one is the better for some regular work."groans. "i shall stick to it," she continued,smiling. "i am not saying it to educate you; it iswhat i really think. i believe that in the last century men havedeveloped the desire for work, and they

must not starve it.it's a new desire. it goes with a great deal that's bad, butin itself it's good, and i hope that for women, too, 'not to work' will soon becomeas shocking as 'not to be married' was a hundred years ago." "i have no experience of this profounddesire to which you allude," enunciated tibby."then we'll leave the subject till you do. i'm not going to rattle you round. take your time.only do think over the lives of the men you like most, and see how they've arrangedthem."

"i like guy and mr. vyse most," said tibbyfaintly, and leant so far back in his chair that he extended in a horizontal line fromknees to throat. "and don't think i'm not serious because idon't use the traditional arguments--making money, a sphere awaiting you, and so on--all of which are, for various reasons, cant." she sewed on."i'm only your sister. i haven't any authority over you, and idon't want to have any. just to put before you what i think thetruth. you see"--she shook off the pince-nez towhich she had recently taken--"in a few

years we shall be the same age practically,and i shall want you to help me. men are so much nicer than women." "labouring under such a delusion, why doyou not marry?" "i sometimes jolly well think i would if igot the chance." "has nobody arst you?" "only ninnies.""do people ask helen?" "plentifully.""tell me about them." "no." "tell me about your ninnies, then.""they were men who had nothing better to

do," said his sister, feeling that she wasentitled to score this point. "so take warning: you must work, or elseyou must pretend to work, which is what i do.work, work, work if you'd save your soul and your body. it is honestly a necessity, dear boy.look at the wilcoxes, look at mr. pembroke. with all their defects of temper andunderstanding, such men give me more pleasure than many who are better equippedand i think it is because they have worked regularly and honestly. "spare me the wilcoxes," he moaned."i shall not.

they are the right sort.""oh, goodness me, meg!" he protested, suddenly sitting up, alert and angry. tibby, for all his defects, had a genuinepersonality. "well, they're as near the right sort asyou can imagine." "no, no--oh, no!" "i was thinking of the younger son, whom ionce classed as a ninny, but who came back so ill from nigeria.he's gone out there again, evie wilcox tells me--out to his duty." "duty" always elicited a groan."he doesn't want the money, it is work he

wants, though it is beastly work--dullcountry, dishonest natives, an eternal fidget over fresh water and food. a nation who can produce men of that sortmay well be proud. no wonder england has become an empire.""empire!" "i can't bother over results," saidmargaret, a little sadly. "they are too difficult for me.i can only look at the men. an empire bores me, so far, but i canappreciate the heroism that builds it up. london bores me, but what thousands ofsplendid people are labouring to make london--"

"what it is," he sneered."what it is, worse luck. i want activity without civilization.how paradoxical! yet i expect that is what we shall find inheaven." "and i," said tibby, "want civilizationwithout activity, which, i expect, is what we shall find in the other place." "you needn't go as far as the other place,tibbi-kins, if you want that. you can find it at oxford.""stupid--" "if i'm stupid, get me back to the house-hunting. i'll even live in oxford if you like--northoxford.

i'll live anywhere except bournemouth,torquay, and cheltenham. oh yes, or ilfracombe and swanage andtunbridge wells and surbiton and bedford. there on no account." "london, then.""i agree, but helen rather wants to get away from london. however, there's no reason we shouldn'thave a house in the country and also a flat in town, provided we all stick together andcontribute. though of course--oh, how one does maunderon, and to think, to think of the people who are really poor.how do they live?

not to move about the world would kill me." as she spoke, the door was flung open, andhelen burst in in a state of extreme excitement."oh, my dears, what do you think? you'll never guess. a woman's been here asking me for herhusband. her what?"(helen was fond of supplying her own surprise.) "yes, for her husband, and it really isso." "not anything to do with bracknell?" criedmargaret, who had lately taken on an

unemployed of that name to clean the knivesand boots. "i offered bracknell, and he was rejected. so was tibby.(cheer up, tibby!) it's no one we know. i said, 'hunt, my good woman; have a goodlook round, hunt under the tables, poke up the chimney, shake out the antimacassars.husband? husband?' oh, and she so magnificently dressed andtinkling like a chandelier." "now, helen, what did happen really?""what i say. i was, as it were, orating my speech.

annie opens the door like a fool, and showsa female straight in on me, with my mouth open.then we began--very civilly. 'i want my husband, what i have reason tobelieve is here.' no--how unjust one is.she said 'whom,' not 'what.' she got it perfectly. so i said, 'name, please?' and she said,'lan, miss,' and there we were. "lan?""lan or len. we were not nice about our vowels. lanoline.""but what an extraordinary--"

"i said, 'my good mrs. lanoline, we havesome grave misunderstanding here. beautiful as i am, my modesty is even moreremarkable than my beauty, and never, never has mr. lanoline rested his eyes on mine.'""i hope you were pleased," said tibby. "of course," helen squeaked. "a perfectly delightful experience.oh, mrs. lanoline's a dear--she asked for a husband as if he was an umbrella.she mislaid him saturday afternoon--and for a long time suffered no inconvenience. but all night, and all this morning herapprehensions grew. breakfast didn't seem the same--no, no moredid lunch, and so she strolled up to 2,

wickham place as being the most likelyplace for the missing article." "but how on earth--" "don't begin how on earthing.'i know what i know,' she kept repeating, not uncivilly, but with extreme gloom.in vain i asked her what she did know. some knew what others knew, and othersdidn't, and if they didn't, then others again had better be careful.oh dear, she was incompetent! she had a face like a silkworm, and thedining-room reeks of orris-root. we chatted pleasantly a little abouthusbands, and i wondered where hers was too, and advised her to go to the police.

she thanked me.we agreed that mr. lanoline's a notty, notty man, and hasn't no business to go onthe lardy-da. but i think she suspected me up to thelast. bags i writing to aunt juley about this.now, meg, remember--bags i." "bag it by all means," murmured margaret,putting down her work. "i'm not sure that this is so funny, helen.it means some horrible volcano smoking somewhere, doesn't it?" "i don't think so--she doesn't really mind.the admirable creature isn't capable of tragedy.""her husband may be, though," said

margaret, moving to the window. "oh, no, not likely.no one capable of tragedy could have married mrs. lanoline.""was she pretty?" "her figure may have been good once." the flats, their only outlook, hung like anornate curtain between margaret and the welter of london.her thoughts turned sadly to house-hunting. wickham place had been so safe. she feared, fantastically, that her ownlittle flock might be moving into turmoil and squalor, into nearer contact with suchepisodes as these.

"tibby and i have again been wonderingwhere we'll live next september," she said at last. "tibby had better first wonder what he'lldo," retorted helen; and that topic was resumed, but with acrimony. then tea came, and after tea helen went onpreparing her speech, and margaret prepared one, too, for they were going out to adiscussion society on the morrow. but her thoughts were poisoned. mrs. lanoline had risen out of the abyss,like a faint smell, a goblin football, telling of a life where love and hatred hadboth decayed.

howards end by e. m. forsterchapter 14 the mystery, like so many mysteries, wasexplained. next day, just as they were dressed to goout to dinner, a mr. bast called. he was a clerk in the employment of theporphyrion fire insurance company. thus much from his card.he had come "about the lady yesterday." thus much from annie, who had shown himinto the dining-room. "cheers, children!" cried helen."it's mrs. lanoline." tibby was interested. the three hurried downstairs, to find, notthe gay dog they expected, but a young man,

colourless, toneless, who had already themournful eyes above a drooping moustache that are so common in london, and that haunt some streets of the city likeaccusing presences. one guessed him as the third generation,grandson to the shepherd or ploughboy whom civilization had sucked into the town; asone of the thousands who have lost the life of the body and failed to reach the life ofthe spirit. hints of robustness survived in him, morethan a hint of primitive good looks, and margaret, noting the spine that might havebeen straight, and the chest that might have broadened, wondered whether it paid to

give up the glory of the animal for a tailcoat and a couple of ideas. culture had worked in her own case, butduring the last few weeks she had doubted whether it humanized the majority, so wideand so widening is the gulf that stretches between the natural and the philosophic man, so many the good chaps who are wreckedin trying to cross it. she knew this type very well--the vagueaspirations, the mental dishonesty, the familiarity with the outsides of books. she knew the very tones in which he wouldaddress her. she was only unprepared for an example ofher own visiting-card.

"you wouldn't remember giving me this, missschlegel?" said he, uneasily familiar. "no; i can't say i do.""well, that was how it happened, you see." "where did we meet, mr. bast? for the minute i don't remember.""it was a concert at the queen's hall. i think you will recollect," he addedpretentiously, "when i tell you that it included a performance of the fifthsymphony of beethoven." "we hear the fifth practically every timeit's done, so i'm not sure--do you remember, helen?""was it the time the sandy cat walked round the balustrade?"

he thought not."then i don't remember. that's the only beethoven i ever rememberspecially." "and you, if i may say so, took away myumbrella, inadvertently of course." "likely enough," helen laughed, "for isteal umbrellas even oftener than i hear beethoven. did you get it back?""yes, thank you, miss schlegel." "the mistake arose out of my card, did it?"interposed margaret. "yes, the mistake arose--it was a mistake." "the lady who called here yesterday thoughtthat you were calling too, and that she

could find you?" she continued, pushing himforward, for, though he had promised an explanation, he seemed unable to give one. "that's so, calling too--a mistake.""then why--?" began helen, but margaret laid a hand on her arm. "i said to my wife," he continued morerapidly--"i said to mrs. bast, 'i have to pay a call on some friends,' and mrs. bastsaid to me, 'do go.' while i was gone, however, she wanted me onimportant business, and thought i had come here, owing to the card, and so came afterme, and i beg to tender my apologies, and hers as well, for any inconvenience we mayhave inadvertently caused you."

"no inconvenience," said helen; "but istill don't understand." an air of evasion characterized mr. bast. he explained again, but was obviouslylying, and helen didn't see why he should get off.she had the cruelty of youth. neglecting her sister's pressure, she said,"i still don't understand. when did you say you paid this call?""call? what call?" said he, staring as if herquestion had been a foolish one, a favourite device of those in mid-stream."this afternoon call." "in the afternoon, of course!" he replied,and looked at tibby to see how the repartee

went. but tibby, himself a repartee, wasunsympathetic, and said, "saturday afternoon or sunday afternoon?""s-saturday." "really!" said helen; "and you were stillcalling on sunday, when your wife came here.a long visit." "i don't call that fair," said mr. bast,going scarlet and handsome. there was fight in his eyes."i know what you mean, and it isn't so." "oh, don't let us mind," said margaret,distressed again by odours from the abyss. "it was something else," he asserted, hiselaborate manner breaking down.

"i was somewhere else to what you think, sothere!" "it was good of you to come and explain,"she said. "the rest is naturally no concern of ours." "yes, but i want--i wanted--have you everread the ordeal of richard feverel?" margaret nodded."it's a beautiful book. i wanted to get back to the earth, don'tyou see, like richard does in the end. or have you ever read stevenson's princeotto?" helen and tibby groaned gently. "that's another beautiful book.you get back to the earth in that.

i wanted--" he mouthed affectedly.then through the mists of his culture came a hard fact, hard as a pebble. "i walked all the saturday night," saidleonard. "i walked."a thrill of approval ran through the sisters. but culture closed in again.he asked whether they had ever read e. v. lucas's open road. said helen, "no doubt it's anotherbeautiful book, but i'd rather hear about your road.""oh, i walked."

"how far?" "i don't know, nor for how long.it got too dark to see my watch." "were you walking alone, may i ask?""yes," he said, straightening himself; "but we'd been talking it over at the office. there's been a lot of talk at the officelately about these things. the fellows there said one steers by thepole star, and i looked it up in the celestial atlas, but once out of doorseverything gets so mixed--" "don't talk to me about the pole star,"interrupted helen, who was becoming interested."i know its little ways.

it goes round and round, and you go roundafter it." "well, i lost it entirely.first of all the street lamps, then the trees, and towards morning it got cloudy." tibby, who preferred his comedy undiluted,slipped from the room. he knew that this fellow would never attainto poetry, and did not want to hear him trying. margaret and helen remained.their brother influenced them more than they knew: in his absence they were stirredto enthusiasm more easily. "where did you start from?" cried margaret.

"do tell us more.""i took the underground to wimbledon. as i came out of the office i said tomyself, 'i must have a walk once in a way. if i don't take this walk now, i shallnever take it.' i had a bit of dinner at wimbledon, andthen--" "but not good country there, is it?" "it was gas-lamps for hours.still, i had all the night, and being out was the great thing.i did get into woods, too, presently." "yes, go on," said helen. "you've no idea how difficult uneven groundis when it's dark."

"did you actually go off the roads?""oh yes. i always meant to go off the roads, but theworst of it is that it's more difficult to find one's way.""mr. bast, you're a born adventurer," laughed margaret. "no professional athlete would haveattempted what you've done. it's a wonder your walk didn't end in abroken neck. whatever did your wife say?" "professional athletes never move withoutlanterns and compasses," said helen. "besides, they can't walk.it tires them.

go on." "i felt like r. l. s.you probably remember how in virginibus--" "yes, but the wood.this 'ere wood. how did you get out of it?" "i managed one wood, and found a road theother side which went a good bit uphill. i rather fancy it was those north downs,for the road went off into grass, and i got into another wood. that was awful, with gorse bushes.i did wish i'd never come, but suddenly it got light--just while i seemed going underone tree.

then i found a road down to a station, andtook the first train i could back to london.""but was the dawn wonderful?" asked helen. with unforgettable sincerity he replied,"no." the word flew again like a pebble from thesling. down toppled all that had seemed ignoble orliterary in his talk, down toppled tiresome r. l. s. and the "love of the earth" andhis silk top-hat. in the presence of these women leonard hadarrived, and he spoke with a flow, an exultation, that he had seldom known."the dawn was only grey, it was nothing to mention--"

"just a grey evening turned upside down.i know." "--and i was too tired to lift up my headto look at it, and so cold too. i'm glad i did it, and yet at the time itbored me more than i can say. and besides--you can believe me or not asyou choose--i was very hungry. that dinner at wimbledon--i meant it tolast me all night like other dinners. i never thought that walking would makesuch a difference. why, when you're walking you want, as itwere, a breakfast and luncheon and tea during the night as well, and i'd nothingbut a packet of woodbines. lord, i did feel bad!

looking back, it wasn't what you may callenjoyment. it was more a case of sticking to it.i did stick. i--i was determined. oh, hang it all! what's the good--i mean,the good of living in a room for ever? there one goes on day after day, same oldgame, same up and down to town, until you forget there is any other game. you ought to see once in a way what's goingon outside, if it's only nothing particular after all.""i should just think you ought," said helen, sitting on the edge of the table.

the sound of a lady's voice recalled himfrom sincerity, and he said: "curious it should all come about from readingsomething of richard jefferies." "excuse me, mr. bast, but you're wrongthere. it didn't.it came from something far greater." but she could not stop him. borrow was imminent after jefferies--borrow, thoreau, and sorrow. r. l. s. brought up the rear, and theoutburst ended in a swamp of books. no disrespect to these great names. the fault is ours, not theirs.they mean us to use them for sign-posts,

and are not to blame if, in our weakness,we mistake the sign-post for the destination. and leonard had reached the destination.he had visited the county of surrey when darkness covered its amenities, and itscosy villas had re-entered ancient night. every twelve hours this miracle happens,but he had troubled to go and see for within his cramped little mind dweltsomething that was greater than jefferies' books--the spirit that led jefferies towrite them; and his dawn, though revealing nothing but monotones, was part of the eternal sunrise that shows george borrowstonehenge.

"then you don't think i was foolish?" heasked, becoming again the naive and sweet- tempered boy for whom nature had intendedhim. "heavens, no!" replied margaret. "heaven help us if we do!" replied helen."i'm very glad you say that. now, my wife would never understand--not ifi explained for days." "no, it wasn't foolish!" cried helen, hereyes aflame. "you've pushed back the boundaries; i thinkit splendid of you." "you've not been content to dream as wehave--" "though we have walked, too--""i must show you a picture upstairs--"

here the door-bell rang. the hansom had come to take them to theirevening party. "oh, bother, not to say dash--i hadforgotten we were dining out; but do, do, come round again and have a talk." "yes, you must--do," echoed margaret.leonard, with extreme sentiment, replied: "no, i shall not.it's better like this." "why better?" asked margaret. "no, it is better not to risk a secondinterview. i shall always look back on this talk withyou as one of the finest things in my life.

really. i mean this.we can never repeat. it has done me real good, and there we hadbetter leave it." "that's rather a sad view of life, surely." "things so often get spoiled.""i know," flashed helen, "but people don't."he could not understand this. he continued in a vein which mingled trueimagination and false. what he said wasn't wrong, but it wasn'tright, and a false note jarred. one little twist, they felt, and theinstrument might be in tune.

one little strain, and it might be silentfor ever. he thanked the ladies very much, but hewould not call again. there was a moment's awkwardness, and thenhelen said: "go, then; perhaps you know best; but never forget you're better thanjefferies." and he went. their hansom caught him up at the corner,passed with a waving of hands, and vanished with its accomplished load into theevening. london was beginning to illuminate herselfagainst the night. electric lights sizzled and jagged in themain thoroughfares, gas-lamps in the side

streets glimmered a canary gold or green. the sky was a crimson battlefield ofspring, but london was not afraid. her smoke mitigated the splendour, and theclouds down oxford street were a delicately painted ceiling, which adorned while it didnot distract. she has never known the clear-cut armies ofthe purer air. leonard hurried through her tinted wonders,very much part of the picture. his was a grey life, and to brighten it hehad ruled off a few corners for romance. the miss schlegels--or, to speak moreaccurately, his interview with them--were to fill such a corner, nor was it by anymeans the first time that he had talked

intimately to strangers. the habit was analogous to a debauch, anoutlet, though the worst of outlets, for instincts that would not be denied. terrifying him, it would beat down hissuspicions and prudence until he was confiding secrets to people whom he hadscarcely seen. it brought him many fears and some pleasantmemories. perhaps the keenest happiness he had everknown was during a railway journey to cambridge, where a decent-manneredundergraduate had spoken to him. they had got into conversation, andgradually leonard flung reticence aside,

told some of his domestic troubles, andhinted at the rest. the undergraduate, supposing they couldstart a friendship, asked him to "coffee after hall," which he accepted, butafterwards grew shy, and took care not to stir from the commercial hotel where helodged. he did not want romance to collide with theporphyrion, still less with jacky, and people with fuller, happier lives are slowto understand this. to the schlegels, as to the undergraduate,he was an interesting creature, of whom they wanted to see more. but they to him were denizens of romance,who must keep to the corner he had assigned

them, pictures that must not walk out oftheir frames. his behaviour over margaret's visiting-cardhad been typical. his had scarcely been a tragic marriage.where there is no money and no inclination to violence tragedy cannot be generated. he could not leave his wife, and he did notwant to hit her. petulance and squalor were enough.here "that card" had come in. leonard, though furtive, was untidy, andleft it lying about. jacky found it, and then began, "what'sthat card, eh?" "yes, don't you wish you knew what thatcard was?"

"len, who's miss schlegel?" etc. months passed, and the card, now as a joke,now as a grievance, was handed about, getting dirtier and dirtier.it followed them when they moved from cornelia road to tulse hill. it was submitted to third parties.a few inches of pasteboard, it became the battlefield on which the souls of leonardand his wife contended. why did he not say, "a lady took myumbrella, another gave me this that i might call for my umbrella"?because jacky would have disbelieved him? partly, but chiefly because he wassentimental.

no affection gathered round the card, butit symbolized the life of culture, that jacky should never spoil. at night he would say to himself, "well, atall events, she doesn't know about that card.yah! done her there!" poor jacky! she was not a bad sort, and hada great deal to bear. she drew her own conclusion--she was onlycapable of drawing one conclusion--and in the fulness of time she acted upon it. all the friday leonard had refused to speakto her, and had spent the evening observing the stars.

on the saturday he went up, as usual, totown, but he came not back saturday night nor sunday morning, nor sunday afternoon. the inconvenience grew intolerable, andthough she was now of a retiring habit, and shy of women, she went up to wickham place.leonard returned in her absence. the card, the fatal card, was gone from thepages of ruskin, and he guessed what had happened."well?" he had exclaimed, greeting her with peals of laughter. "i know where you've been, but you don'tknow where i've been." jacky sighed, said, "len, i do think youmight explain," and resumed domesticity.

explanations were difficult at this stage,and leonard was too silly--or it is tempting to write, too sound a chap toattempt them. his reticence was not entirely the shoddyarticle that a business life promotes, the reticence that pretends that nothing issomething, and hides behind the daily telegraph. the adventurer, also, is reticent, and itis an adventure for a clerk to walk for a few hours in darkness. you may laugh at him, you who have sleptnights on the veldt, with your rifle beside you and all the atmosphere of adventurepast.

and you also may laugh who think adventuressilly. but do not be surprised if leonard is shywhenever he meets you, and if the schlegels rather than jacky hear about the dawn. that the schlegels had not thought himfoolish became a permanent joy. he was at his best when he thought of them.it buoyed him as he journeyed home beneath fading heavens. somehow the barriers of wealth had fallen,and there had been--he could not phrase it- -a general assertion of the wonder of theworld. "my conviction," says the mystic, "gainsinfinitely the moment another soul will

believe in it," and they had agreed thatthere was something beyond life's daily grey. he took off his top-hat and smoothed itthoughtfully. he had hitherto supposed the unknown to bebooks, literature, clever conversation, culture. one raised oneself by study, and gotupsides with the world. but in that quick interchange a new lightdawned. was that something" walking in the darkamong the surburban hills? he discovered that he was going bareheadeddown regent street.

london came back with a rush. few were about at this hour, but all whomhe passed looked at him with a hostility that was the more impressive because it wasunconscious. he put his hat on. it was too big; his head disappeared like apudding into a basin, the ears bending outwards at the touch of the curly brim. he wore it a little backwards, and itseffect was greatly to elongate the face and to bring out the distance between the eyesand the moustache. thus equipped, he escaped criticism.

no one felt uneasy as he titupped along thepavements, the heart of a man ticking fast in his chest.

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