The Voyage Out ...................................................................................................................................................1

Virginia Woolf .........................................................................................................................................1

As the streets that lead from the Strand to the Embankment are very narrow, it is better not to walk down

them arminarm. If you persist, lawyers' clerks will have to make flying leaps into the mud; young lady

typists will have to fidget behind you. In the streets of London where beauty goes unregarded, eccentricity

must pay the penalty, and it is better not to be very tall, to wear a long blue cloak, or to beat the air with your

One afternoon in the beginning of October when the traffic was becoming brisk a tall man strode along the

edge of the pavement with a lady on his arm. Angry glances struck upon their backs. The small, agitated

figuresfor in comparison with this couple most people looked smalldecorated with fountain pens, and

burdened with despatchboxes, had appointments to keep, and drew a weekly salary, so that there was some

reason for the unfriendly stare which was bestowed upon Mr. Ambrose's height and upon Mrs. Ambrose's

cloak. But some enchantment had put both man and woman beyond the reach of malice and unpopularity. In

his guess one might guess from the moving lips that it was thought; and in hers from the eyes fixed stonily

straight in front of her at a level above the eyes of most that it was sorrow. It was only by scorning all she met

that she kept herself from tears, and the friction of people brushing past her was evidently painful. After

watching the traffic on the Embankment for a minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched her husband's

sleeve, and they crossed between the swift discharge of motor cars. When they were safe on the further side,

she gently withdrew her arm from his, allowing her mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble; then tears

rolled down, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, she shielded her face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose

attempted consolation; he patted her shoulder; but she showed no signs of admitting him, and feeling it

awkward to stand beside a grief that was greater than his, he crossed his arms behind him, and took a turn

The embankment juts out in angles here and there, like pulpits; instead of preachers, however, small boys

occupy them, dangling string, dropping pebbles, or launching wads of paper for a cruise. With their sharp eye

for eccentricity, they were inclined to think Mr. Ambrose awful; but the quickest witted cried "Bluebeard!" as

he passed. In case they should proceed to tease his wife, Mr. Ambrose flourished his stick at them, upon

which they decided that he was grotesque merely, and four instead of one cried "Bluebeard!" in chorus.

Although Mrs. Ambrose stood quite still, much longer than is natural, the little boys let her be. Some one is

always looking into the river near Waterloo Bridge; a couple will stand there talking for half an hour on a fine

afternoon; most people, walking for pleasure, contemplate for three minutes; when, having compared the

occasion with other occasions, or made some sentence, they pass on. Sometimes the flats and churches and

hotels of Westminster are like the outlines of Constantinople in a mist; sometimes the river is an opulent

purple, sometimes mudcoloured, sometimes sparkling blue like the sea. It is always worth while to look

down and see what is happening. But this lady looked neither up nor down; the only thing she had seen, since

she stood there, was a circular iridescent patch slowly floating past with a straw in the middle of it. The straw

and the patch swam again and again behind the tremulous medium of a great welling tear, and the tear rose

Yes, she knew she must go back to all that, but at present she must weep. Screening her face she sobbed more

steadily than she had yet done, her shoulders rising and falling with great regularity. It was this figure that her

husband saw when, having reached the polished Sphinx, having entangled himself with a man selling picture

postcards, he turned; the stanza instantly stopped. He came up to her, laid his hand on her shoulder, and said,

"Dearest." His voice was supplicating. But she shut her face away from him, as much as to say, "You can't

As he did not leave her, however, she had to wipe her eyes, and to raise them to the level of the factory

chimneys on the other bank. She saw also the arches of Waterloo Bridge and the carts moving across them,

like the line of animals in a shooting gallery. They were seen blankly, but to see anything was of course to

"I would rather walk," she said, her husband having hailed a cab already occupied by two city men.

The fixity of her mood was broken by the action of walking. The shooting motor cars, more like spiders in

the moon than terrestrial objects, the thundering drays, the jingling hansoms, and little black broughams,

made her think of the world she lived in. Somewhere up there above the pinnacles where the smoke rose in a

pointed hill, her children were now asking for her, and getting a soothing reply. As for the mass of streets,

squares, and public buildings which parted them, she only felt at this moment how little London had done to

make her love it, although thirty of her forty years had been spent in a street. She knew how to read the

people who were passing her; there were the rich who were running to and from each others' houses at this

hour; there were the bigoted workers driving in a straight line to their offices; there were the poor who were

unhappy and rightly malignant. Already, though there was sunlight in the haze, tattered old men and women

were nodding off to sleep upon the seats. When one gave up seeing the beauty that clothed things, this was

A fine rain now made her still more dismal; vans with the odd names of those engaged in odd

industriesSprules, Manufacturer of Sawdust; Grabb, to whom no piece of waste paper comes amiss

fell flat as a bad joke; bold lovers, sheltered behind one cloak, seemed to her sordid, past their passion; the

flower women, a contented company, whose talk is always worth hearing, were sodden hags; the red, yellow,

and blue flowers, whose heads were pressed together, would not blaze. Moreover, her husband walking with

a quick rhythmic stride, jerking his free hand occasionally, was either a Viking or a stricken Nelson; the

The cab, by trotting steadily along the same road, soon withdrew them from the West End, and plunged them

into London. It appeared that this was a great manufacturing place, where the people were engaged in making

things, as though the West End, with its electric lamps, its vast plateglass windows all shining yellow, its

carefullyfinished houses, and tiny live figures trotting on the pavement, or bowled along on wheels in the

road, was the finished work. It appeared to her a very small bit of work for such an enormous factory to have

made. For some reason it appeared to her as a small golden tassel on the edge of a vast black cloak.

Observing that they passed no other hansom cab, but only vans and waggons, and that not one of the

thousand men and women she saw was either a gentleman or a lady, Mrs. Ambrose understood that after all it

is the ordinary thing to be poor, and that London is the city of innumerable poor people. Startled by this

discovery and seeing herself pacing a circle all the days of her life round Picadilly Circus she was greatly

relieved to pass a building put up by the London County Council for Night Schools.

What with the misery for her children, the poor, and the rain, her mind was like a wound exposed to dry in

At this point the cab stopped, for it was in danger of being crushed like an eggshell. The wide Embankment

which had had room for cannonballs and squadrons, had now shrunk to a cobbled lane steaming with smells

of malt and oil and blocked by waggons. While her husband read the placards pasted on the brick announcing

the hours at which certain ships would sail for Scotland, Mrs. Ambrose did her best to find information. From

a world exclusively occupied in feeding waggons with sacks, half obliterated too in a fine yellow fog, they

got neither help nor attention. It seemed a miracle when an old man approached, guessed their condition, and

proposed to row them out to their ship in the little boat which he kept moored at the bottom of a flight of

steps. With some hesitation they trusted themselves to him, took their places, and were soon waving up and

down upon the water, London having shrunk to two lines of buildings on either side of them, square buildings

The river, which had a certain amount of troubled yellow light in it, ran with great force; bulky barges floated

down swiftly escorted by tugs; police boats shot past everything; the wind went with the current. The open

rowingboat in which they sat bobbed and curtseyed across the line of traffic. In midstream the old man

stayed his hands upon the oars, and as the water rushed past them, remarked that once he had taken many

passengers across, where now he took scarcely any. He seemed to recall an age when his boat, moored among

"They want bridges now," he said, indicating the monstrous outline of the Tower Bridge. Mournfully Helen

regarded him, who was putting water between her and her children. Mournfully she gazed at the ship they

were approaching; anchored in the middle of the stream they could dimly read her name_Euphrosyne_.

Very dimly in the falling dusk they could see the lines of the rigging, the masts and the dark flag which the

As the little boat sidled up to the steamer, and the old man shipped his oars, he remarked once more pointing

above, that ships all the world over flew that flag the day they sailed. In the minds of both the passengers the

blue flag appeared a sinister token, and this the moment for presentiments, but nevertheless they rose,

Down in the saloon of her father's ship, Miss Rachel Vinrace, aged twentyfour, stood waiting her uncle and

aunt nervously. To begin with, though nearly related, she scarcely remembered them; to go on with, they

were elderly people, and finally, as her father's daughter she must be in some sort prepared to entertain them.

She looked forward to seeing them as civilised people generally look forward to the first sight of civilised

people, as though they were of the nature of an approaching physical discomfort a tight shoe or a draughty

window. She was already unnaturally braced to receive them. As she occupied herself in laying forks

severely straight by the side of knives, she heard a man's voice saying gloomily:

"On a dark night one would fall down these stairs head foremost," to which a woman's voice added, "And be

As she spoke the last words the woman stood in the doorway. Tall, largeeyed, draped in purple shawls, Mrs.

Ambrose was romantic and beautiful; not perhaps sympathetic, for her eyes looked straight and considered

what they saw. Her face was much warmer than a Greek face; on the other hand it was much bolder than the

"How are you, dear," said Mr. Ambrose, inclining his forehead to be kissed. His niece instinctively liked his

thin angular body, and the big head with its sweeping features, and the acute, innocent eyes.

"Tell Mr. Pepper," Rachel bade the servant. Husband and wife then sat down on one side of the table, with

"My father told me to begin," she explained. "He is very busy with the men. . . . You know Mr. Pepper?"

A little man who was bent as some trees are by a gale on one side of them had slipped in. Nodding to Mr.

"You are still rheumatic?" asked Helen. Her voice was low and seductive, though she spoke absently enough,

"Once rheumatic, always rheumatic, I fear," he replied. "To some extent it depends on the weather, though

"Thank you, dear," he said, and, as he held his plate out, sighed audibly, "Ah! she's not like her mother."

Helen was just too late in thumping her tumbler on the table to prevent Rachel from hearing, and from

"The way servants treat flowers!" she said hastily. She drew a green vase with a crinkled lip towards her, and

began pulling out the tight little chrysanthemums, which she laid on the tablecloth, arranging them

"Ah, dear!I knew himages ago," said Ridley. "He was the hero of the punt accident, you remember? A

queer card. Married a young woman out of a tobacconist's, and lived in the Fensnever heard what became

"Drinkdrugs," said Mr. Pepper with sinister conciseness. "He left a commentary. Hopeless muddle, I'm

"His introduction to Jellaby holds its own still," went on Mr. Pepper, "which is surprising, seeing how

Now a tremor ran through the table, and a light outside swerved. At the same time an electric bell rang

A slight but perceptible wave seemed to roll beneath the floor; then it sank; then another came, more

perceptible. Lights slid right across the uncurtained window. The ship gave a loud melancholy moan.

"We're off!" said Mr. Pepper. Other ships, as sad as she, answered her outside on the river. The chuckling and

hissing of water could be plainly heard, and the ship heaved so that the steward bringing plates had to balance

"As much as one ever does," said Mr. Pepper. "We meet annually. This year he has had the misfortune to lose

"There's an unmarried daughter who keeps house for him, I believe, but it's never the same, not at his age."

"There _was_ a book, but there never _will_ be a book," said Mr. Pepper with such fierceness that both ladies

"There never will be a book, because some one else has written it for him," said Mr. Pepper with considerable

acidity. "That's what comes of putting things off, and collecting fossils, and sticking Norman arches on one's

"I confess I sympathise," said Ridley with a melancholy sigh. "I have a weakness for people who can't begin."

". . . The accumulations of a lifetime wasted," continued Mr. pepper. "He had accumulations enough to fill a

"It's a vice that some of us escape," said Ridley. "Our friend Miles has another work out today."

Mr. Pepper gave an acid little laugh. "According to my calculations," he said, "he has produced two volumes

and a half annually, which, allowing for time spent in the cradle and so forth, shows a commendable

"Yes, the old Master's saying of him has been pretty well realised," said Ridley.

"A way they had," said Mr. Pepper. "You know the Bruce collection? not for publication, of course."

"I should suppose not," said Ridley significantly. "For a Divine he wasremarkably free."

Each of the ladies, being after the fashion of their sex, highly trained in promoting men's talk without

listening to it, could thinkabout the education of children, about the use of fog sirens in an operawithout

betraying herself. Only it struck Helen that Rachel was perhaps too still for a hostess, and that she might have

"Perhaps?" she said at length, upon which they rose and left, vaguely to the surprise of the gentlemen, who

"Ah, one could tell strange stories of the old days," they heard Ridley say, as he sank into his chair again.

Glancing back, at the doorway, they saw Mr. Pepper as though he had suddenly loosened his clothes, and had

Winding veils round their heads, the women walked on deck. They were now moving steadily down the river,

passing the dark shapes of ships at anchor, and London was a swarm of lights with a pale yellow canopy

drooping above it. There were the lights of the great theatres, the lights of the long streets, lights that

indicated huge squares of domestic comfort, lights that hung high in air. No darkness would ever settle upon

those lamps, as no darkness had settled upon them for hundreds of years. It seemed dreadful that the town

should blaze for ever in the same spot; dreadful at least to people going away to adventure upon the sea, and

beholding it as a circumscribed mound, eternally burnt, eternally scarred. From the deck of the ship the great

Leaning over the rail, side by side, Helen said, "Won't you be cold?" Rachel replied, "No. . . . How

beautiful!" she added a moment later. Very little was visiblea few masts, a shadow of land here, a line of

"It blowsit blows!" gasped Rachel, the words rammed down her throat. Struggling by her side, Helen was

suddenly overcome by the spirit of movement, and pushed along with her skirts wrapping themselves round

her knees, and both arms to her hair. But slowly the intoxication of movement died down, and the wind

became rough and chilly. They looked through a chink in the blind and saw that long cigars were being

smoked in the diningroom; they saw Mr. Ambrose throw himself violently against the back of his chair,

while Mr. Pepper crinkled his cheeks as though they had been cut in wood. The ghost of a roar of laughter

came out to them, and was drowned at once in the wind. In the dry yellowlighted room Mr. Pepper and Mr.

Ambrose were oblivious of all tumult; they were in Cambridge, and it was probably about the year 1875.

"They're old friends," said Helen, smiling at the sight. "Now, is there a room for us to sit in?"

"It's more like a landing than a room," she said. Indeed it had nothing of the shut stationary character of a

room on shore. A table was rooted in the middle, and seats were stuck to the sides. Happily the tropical suns

had bleached the tapestries to a faded bluegreen colour, and the mirror with its frame of shells, the work of

the steward's love, when the time hung heavy in the southern seas, was quaint rather than ugly. Twisted shells

with red lips like unicorn's horns ornamented the mantelpiece, which was draped by a pall of purple plush

from which depended a certain number of balls. Two windows opened on to the deck, and the light beating

through them when the ship was roasted on the Amazons had turned the prints on the opposite wall to a faint

yellow colour, so that "The Coliseum" was scarcely to be distinguished from Queen Alexandra playing with

her Spaniels. A pair of wicker armchairs by the fireside invited one to warm one's hands at a grate full of

gilt shavings; a great lamp swung above the tablethe kind of lamp which makes the light of civilisation

"It's odd that every one should be an old friend of Mr. Pepper's," Rachel started nervously, for the situation

"He's like this," said Rachel, lighting on a fossilised fish in a basin, and displaying it.

"I don't really know him," she said, and took refuge in facts, believing that elderly people really like them

better than feelings. She produced what she knew of William Pepper. She told Helen that he always called on

Sundays when they were at home; he knew about a great many thingsabout mathematics, history, Greek,

zoology, economics, and the Icelandic Sagas. He had turned Persian poetry into English prose, and English

prose into Greek iambics; he was an authority upon coins; andone other thingoh yes, she thought it was

He was here either to get things out of the sea, or to write upon the probable course of Odysseus, for Greek

"I've got all his pamphlets," she said. "Little pamphlets. Little yellow books." It did not appear that she had

"His heart's a piece of old shoe leather," Rachel declared, dropping the fish. But when questioned she had to

"The last time I saw you, you were buying a piano," she continued. "Do you rememberthe piano, the room

"Yes, and my aunts said the piano would come through the floor, but at their age one wouldn't mind being

"I heard from Aunt Bessie not long ago," Helen stated. "She is afraid that you will spoil your arms if you

Helen looked at her. Her face was weak rather than decided, saved from insipidity by the large enquiring

eyes; denied beauty, now that she was sheltered indoors, by the lack of colour and definite outline. Moreover,

a hesitation in speaking, or rather a tendency to use the wrong words, made her seem more than normally

incompetent for her years. Mrs. Ambrose, who had been speaking much at random, now reflected that she

certainly did not look forward to the intimacy of three or four weeks on board ship which was threatened.

Women of her own age usually boring her, she supposed that girls would be worse. She glanced at Rachel

again. Yes! how clear it was that she would be vacillating, emotional, and when you said something to her it

would make no more lasting impression than the stroke of a stick upon water. There was nothing to take hold

of in girlsnothing hard, permanent, satisfactory. Did Willoughby say three weeks, or did he say four? She

At this point, however, the door opened and a tall burly man entered the room, came forward and shook

Helen's hand with an emotional kind of heartiness, Willoughby himself, Rachel's father, Helen's

brotherinlaw. As a great deal of flesh would have been needed to make a fat man of him, his frame being

so large, he was not fat; his face was a large framework too, looking, by the smallness of the features and the

glow in the hollow of the cheek, more fitted to withstand assaults of the weather than to express sentiments

"We'll do our best to make you comfortable. And Ridley. We think it an honour to have charge of him.

Pepper'll have some one to contradict himwhich I daren't do. You find this child grown, don't you? A

Still holding Helen's hand he drew his arm round Rachel's shoulder, thus making them come uncomfortably

"Because we expect great things of her," he continued, squeezing his daughter's arm and releasing her. "But

about you now." They sat down side by side on the little sofa. "Did you leave the children well? They'll be

ready for school, I suppose. Do they take after you or Ambrose? They've got good heads on their shoulders,

At this Helen immediately brightened more than she had yet done, and explained that her son was six and her

daughter ten. Everybody said that her boy was like her and her girl like Ridley. As for brains, they were quick

brats, she thought, and modestly she ventured on a little story about her son,how left alone for a minute he

had taken the pat of butter in his fingers, run across the room with it, and put it on the firemerely for the

Much as Willoughby would doubtless have liked his daughter to praise him she did not; her eyes were

unreflecting as water, her fingers still toying with the fossilised fish, her mind absent. The elder people went

on to speak of arrangements that could be made for Ridley's comforta table placed where he couldn't help

looking at the sea, far from boilers, at the same time sheltered from the view of people passing. Unless he

made this a holiday, when his books were all packed, he would have no holiday whatever; for out at Santa

Marina Helen knew, by experience, that he would work all day; his boxes, she said, were packed with books.

"Leave it to meleave it to me!" said Willoughby, obviously intending to do much more than she asked of

"How are you, Vinrace?" said Ridley, extending a limp hand as he came in, as though the meeting were

Willoughby preserved his heartiness, tempered by respect. For the moment nothing was said.

"We looked in and saw you laughing," Helen remarked. "Mr. Pepper had just told a very good story."

As this was quite true Helen did not attempt to deny it, and her next remark, "But didn't they improve after

we'd gone?" was unfortunate, for her husband answered with a droop of his shoulders, "If possible they got

The situation was now one of considerable discomfort for every one concerned, as was proved by a long

interval of constraint and silence. Mr. Pepper, indeed, created a diversion of a kind by leaping on to his seat,

both feet tucked under him, with the action of a spinster who detects a mouse, as the draught struck at his

ankles. Drawn up there, sucking at his cigar, with his arms encircling his knees, he looked like the image of

Buddha, and from this elevation began a discourse, addressed to nobody, for nobody had called for it, upon

the unplumbed depths of ocean. He professed himself surprised to learn that although Mr. Vinrace possessed

ten ships, regularly plying between London and Buenos Aires, not one of them was bidden to investigate the

"If it weren't for the goats there'd be no music, my dear; music depends upon goats," said her father rather

sharply, and Mr. Pepper went on to describe the white, hairless, blind monsters lying curled on the ridges of

sand at the bottom of the sea, which would explode if you brought them to the surface, their sides bursting

asunder and scattering entrails to the winds when released from pressure, with considerable detail and with

From all this Helen drew her own conclusions, which were gloomy enough. Pepper was a bore; Rachel was

an unlicked girl, no doubt prolific of confidences, the very first of which would be: "You see, I don't get on

with my father." Willoughby, as usual, loved his business and built his Empire, and between them all she

would be considerably bored. Being a woman of action, however, she rose, and said that for her part she was

going to bed. At the door she glanced back instinctively at Rachel, expecting that as two of the same sex they

would leave the room together. Rachel rose, looked vaguely into Helen's face, and remarked with her slight

Mrs. Ambrose's worst suspicions were confirmed; she went down the passage lurching from side to side, and

fending off the wall now with her right arm, now with her left; at each lurch she exclaimed emphatically,

Uncomfortable as the night, with its rocking movement, and salt smells, may have been, and in one case

undoubtedly was, for Mr. Pepper had insufficient clothes upon his bed, the breakfast next morning wore a

kind of beauty. The voyage had begun, and had begun happily with a soft blue sky, and a calm sea. The sense

of untapped resources, things to say as yet unsaid, made the hour significant, so that in future years the entire

journey perhaps would be represented by this one scene, with the sound of sirens hooting in the river the

The table was cheerful with apples and bread and eggs. Helen handed Willoughby the butter, and as she did

so cast her eye on him and reflected, "And she married you, and she was happy, I suppose."

She went off on a familiar train of thought, leading on to all kinds of wellknown reflections, from the old

"Of course, one sees all that," she thought, meaning that one sees that he is big and burly, and has a great

booming voice, and a fist and a will of his own; "but" here she slipped into a fine analysis of him which is

best represented by one word, "sentimental," by which she meant that he was never simple and honest about

his feelings. For example, he seldom spoke of the dead, but kept anniversaries with singular pomp. She

suspected him of nameless atrocities with regard to his daughter, as indeed she had always suspected him of

bullying his wife. Naturally she fell to comparing her own fortunes with the fortunes of her friend, for

Willoughby's wife had been perhaps the one woman Helen called friend, and this comparison often made the

staple of their talk. Ridley was a scholar, and Willoughby was a man of business. Ridley was bringing out the

third volume of Pindar when Willoughby was launching his first ship. They built a new factory the very year

the commentary on Aristotle was it?appeared at the University Press. "And Rachel," she looked at her,

meaning, no doubt, to decide the argument, which was otherwise too evenly balanced, by declaring that

Rachel was not comparable to her own children. "She really might be six years old," was all she said,

however, this judgment referring to the smooth unmarked outline of the girl's face, and not condemning her

otherwise, for if Rachel were ever to think, feel, laugh, or express herself, instead of dropping milk from a

height as though to see what kind of drops it made, she might be interesting though never exactly pretty. She

was like her mother, as the image in a pool on a still summer's day is like the vivid flushed face that hangs

Meanwhile Helen herself was under examination, though not from either of her victims. Mr. Pepper

considered her; and his meditations, carried on while he cut his toast into bars and neatly buttered them, took

him through a considerable stretch of autobiography. One of his penetrating glances assured him that he was

right last night in judging that Helen was beautiful. Blandly he passed her the jam. She was talking nonsense,

but not worse nonsense than people usually do talk at breakfast, the cerebral circulation, as he knew to his

cost, being apt to give trouble at that hour. He went on saying "No" to her, on principle, for he never yielded

to a woman on account of her sex. And here, dropping his eyes to his plate, he became autobiographical. He

had not married himself for the sufficient reason that he had never met a woman who commanded his respect.

Condemned to pass the susceptible years of youth in a railway station in Bombay, he had seen only coloured

women, military women, official women; and his ideal was a woman who could read Greek, if not Persian,

was irreproachably fair in the face, and able to understand the small things he let fall while undressing. As it

was he had contracted habits of which he was not in the least ashamed. Certain odd minutes every day went

to learning things by heart; he never took a ticket without noting the number; he devoted January to

Petronius, February to Catullus, March to the Etruscan vases perhaps; anyhow he had done good work in

India, and there was nothing to regret in his life except the fundamental defects which no wise man regrets,

when the present is still his. So concluding he looked up suddenly and smiled. Rachel caught his eye.

"And now you've chewed something thirtyseven times, I suppose?" she thought, but said politely aloud,

"My shoulder blades?" he asked, shifting them painfully. "Beauty has no effect upon uric acid that I'm aware

of," he sighed, contemplating the round pane opposite, through which the sky and sea showed blue. At the

same time he took a little parchment volume from his pocket and laid it on the table. As it was clear that he

invited comment, Helen asked him the name of it. She got the name; but she got also a disquisition upon the

proper method of making roads. Beginning with the Greeks, who had, he said, many difficulties to contend

with, he continued with the Romans, passed to England and the right method, which speedily became the

wrong method, and wound up with such a fury of denunciation directed against the roadmakers of the

present day in general, and the roadmakers of Richmond Park in particular, where Mr. Pepper had the habit

of cycling every morning before breakfast, that the spoons fairly jingled against the coffee cups, and the

"Pebbles!" he concluded, viciously dropping another bread pellet upon the heap. "The roads of England are

mended with pebbles! 'With the first heavy rainfall,' I've told 'em, 'your road will be a swamp.' Again and

again my words have proved true. But d'you suppose they listen to me when I tell 'em so, when I point out the

consequences, the consequences to the public purse, when I recommend 'em to read Coryphaeus? No, Mrs.

Ambrose, you will form no just opinion of the stupidity of mankind until you have sat upon a Borough

"I have had servants," said Mrs. Ambrose, concentrating her gaze. "At this moment I have a nurse. She's a

good woman as they go, but she's determined to make my children pray. So far, owing to great care on my

part, they think of God as a kind of walrus; but now that my back's turnedRidley," she demanded,

swinging round upon her husband, "what shall we do if we find them saying the Lord's Prayer when we get

Ridley made the sound which is represented by "Tush." But Willoughby, whose discomfort as he listened

was manifested by a slight movement rocking of his body, said awkwardly, "Oh, surely, Helen, a little

"I would rather my children told lies," she replied, and while Willoughby was reflecting that his

sisterinlaw was even more eccentric than he remembered, pushed her chair back and swept upstairs. In a

They followed her on to the deck. All the smoke and the houses had disappeared, and the ship was out in a

wide space of sea very fresh and clear though pale in the early light. They had left London sitting on its mud.

A very thin line of shadow tapered on the horizon, scarcely thick enough to stand the burden of Paris, which

nevertheless rested upon it. They were free of roads, free of mankind, and the same exhilaration at their

freedom ran through them all. The ship was making her way steadily through small waves which slapped her

and then fizzled like effervescing water, leaving a little border of bubbles and foam on either side. The

colourless October sky above was thinly clouded as if by the trail of woodfire smoke, and the air was

wonderfully salt and brisk. Indeed it was too cold to stand still. Mrs. Ambrose drew her arm within her

husband's, and as they moved off it could be seen from the way in which her sloping cheek turned up to his

that she had something private to communicate. They went a few paces and Rachel saw them kiss.

Down she looked into the depth of the sea. While it was slightly disturbed on the surface by the passage of

the _Euphrosyne_, beneath it was green and dim, and it grew dimmer and dimmer until the sand at the

bottom was only a pale blur. One could scarcely see the black ribs of wrecked ships, or the spiral towers

made by the burrowings of great eels, or the smooth greensided monsters who came by flickering this way

"And, Rachel, if any one wants me, I'm busy till one," said her father, enforcing his words as he often did,

"Until one," he repeated. "And you'll find yourself some employment, eh? Scales, French, a little German,

eh? There's Mr. Pepper who knows more about separable verbs than any man in Europe, eh?" and he went off

laughing. Rachel laughed, too, as indeed she had laughed ever since she could remember, without thinking it

But just as she was turning with a view perhaps to finding some employment, she was intercepted by a

woman who was so broad and so thick that to be intercepted by her was inevitable. The discreet tentative way

in which she moved, together with her sober black dress, showed that she belonged to the lower orders;

nevertheless she took up a rocklike position, looking about her to see that no gentry were near before she

delivered her message, which had reference to the state of the sheets, and was of the utmost gravity.

"How ever we're to get through this voyage, Miss Rachel, I really can't tell," she began with a shake of her

head. "There's only just sheets enough to go round, and the master's has a rotten place you could put your

fingers through. And the counterpanes. Did you notice the counterpanes? I thought to myself a poor person

would have been ashamed of them. The one I gave Mr. Pepper was hardly fit to cover a dog. . . . No, Miss

Rachel, they could _not_ be mended; they're only fit for dust sheets. Why, if one sewed one's finger to the

There was nothing for it but to descend and inspect a large pile of linen heaped upon a table. Mrs. Chailey

handled the sheets as if she knew each by name, character, and constitution. Some had yellow stains, others

had places where the threads made long ladders; but to the ordinary eye they looked much as sheets usually

Suddenly Mrs. Chailey, turning from the subject of sheets, dismissing them entirely, clenched her fists on the

top of them, and proclaimed, "And you couldn't ask a living creature to sit where I sit!"

Mrs. Chailey was expected to sit in a cabin which was large enough, but too near the boilers, so that after five

minutes she could hear her heart "go," she complained, putting her hand above it, which was a state of things

that Mrs. Vinrace, Rachel's mother, would never have dreamt of inflictingMrs. Vinrace, who knew every

sheet in her house, and expected of every one the best they could do, but no more.

It was the easiest thing in the world to grant another room, and the problem of sheets simultaneously and

miraculously solved itself, the spots and ladders not being past cure after all, but

"Lies! Lies! Lies!" exclaimed the mistress indignantly, as she ran up on to the deck. "What's the use of telling

In her anger that a woman of fifty should behave like a child and come cringing to a girl because she wanted

to sit where she had not leave to sit, she did not think of the particular case, and, unpacking her music, soon

Mrs. Chailey folded her sheets, but her expression testified to flatness within. The world no longer cared

about her, and a ship was not a home. When the lamps were lit yesterday, and the sailors went tumbling

above her head, she had cried; she would cry this evening; she would cry tomorrow. It was not home.

Meanwhile she arranged her ornaments in the room which she had won too easily. They were strange

ornaments to bring on a sea voyagechina pugs, teasets in miniature, cups stamped floridly with the arms

of the city of Bristol, hairpin boxes crusted with shamrock, antelopes' heads in coloured plaster, together

with a multitude of tiny photographs, representing downright workmen in their Sunday best, and women

holding white babies. But there was one portrait in a gilt frame, for which a nail was needed, and before she

sought it Mrs. Chailey put on her spectacles and read what was written on a slip of paper at the back:

"This picture of her mistress is given to Emma Chailey by Willoughby Vinrace in gratitude for thirty years of

"So long as I can do something for your family," she was saying, as she hammered at it, when a voice called

"I'm in a fix," said Mrs. Ambrose, who was flushed and out of breath. "You know what gentlemen are. The

chairs too highthe tables too lowthere's six inches between the floor and the door. What I want's a

hammer, an old quilt, and have you such a thing as a kitchen table? Anyhow, between us"she now flung

open the door of her husband's sitting room, and revealed Ridley pacing up and down, his forehead all

"It's as though they'd taken pains to torment me!" he cried, stopping dead. "Did I come on this voyage in

order to catch rheumatism and pneumonia? Really one might have credited Vinrace with more sense. My

dear," Helen was on her knees under a table, "you are only making yourself untidy, and we had much better

recognise the fact that we are condemned to six weeks of unspeakable misery. To come at all was the height

of folly, but now that we are here I suppose that I can face it like a man. My diseases of course will be

increasedI feel already worse than I did yesterday, but we've only ourselves to thank, and the children

"Move! Move! Move!" cried Helen, chasing him from corner to corner with a chair as though he were an

She turned him out of the room, and they could hear him groaning and swearing as he went along the

"I daresay he isn't very strong," said Mrs. Chailey, looking at Mrs. Ambrose compassionately, as she helped

"It's books," sighed Helen, lifting an armful of sad volumes from the floor to the shelf. "Greek from morning

to night. If ever Miss Rachel marries, Chailey, pray that she may marry a man who doesn't know his ABC."

The preliminary discomforts and harshnesses, which generally make the first days of a sea voyage so

cheerless and trying to the temper, being somehow lived through, the succeeding days passed pleasantly

enough. October was well advanced, but steadily burning with a warmth that made the early months of the

summer appear very young and capricious. Great tracts of the earth lay now beneath the autumn sun, and the

whole of England, from the bald moors to the Cornish rocks, was lit up from dawn to sunset, and showed in

stretches of yellow, green, and purple. Under that illumination even the roofs of the great towns glittered. In

thousands of small gardens, millions of darkred flowers were blooming, until the old ladies who had tended

them so carefully came down the paths with their scissors, snipped through their juicy stalks, and laid them

upon cold stone ledges in the village church. Innumerable parties of picnickers coming home at sunset cried,

"Was there ever such a day as this?" "It's you," the young men whispered; "Oh, it's you," the young women

replied. All old people and many sick people were drawn, were it only for a foot or two, into the open air, and

prognosticated pleasant things about the course of the world. As for the confidences and expressions of love

that were heard not only in cornfields but in lamplit rooms, where the windows opened on the garden, and

men with cigars kissed women with grey hairs, they were not to be counted. Some said that the sky was an

emblem of the life to come. Longtailed birds clattered and screamed, and crossed from wood to wood, with

But while all this went on by land, very few people thought about the sea. They took it for granted that the

sea was calm; and there was no need, as there is in many houses when the creeper taps on the bedroom

windows, for the couples to murmur before they kiss, "Think of the ships tonight," or "Thank Heaven, I'm

not the man in the lighthouse!" For all they imagined, the ships when they vanished on the skyline

dissolved, like snow in water. The grownup view, indeed, was not much clearer than the view of the little

creatures in bathing drawers who were trotting in to the foam all along the coasts of England, and scooping

up buckets full of water. They saw white sails or tufts of smoke pass across the horizon, and if you had said

that these were waterspouts, or the petals of white sea flowers, they would have agreed.

The people in ships, however, took an equally singular view of England. Not only did it appear to them to be

an island, and a very small island, but it was a shrinking island in which people were imprisoned. One figured

them first swarming about like aimless ants, and almost pressing each other over the edge; and then, as the

ship withdrew, one figured them making a vain clamour, which, being unheard, either ceased, or rose into a

brawl. Finally, when the ship was out of sight of land, it became plain that the people of England were

completely mute. The disease attacked other parts of the earth; Europe shrank, Asia shrank, Africa and

America shrank, until it seemed doubtful whether the ship would ever run against any of those wrinkled little

rocks again. But, on the other hand, an immense dignity had descended upon her; she was an inhabitant of the

great world, which has so few inhabitants, travelling all day across an empty universe, with veils drawn

before her and behind. She was more lonely than the caravan crossing the desert; she was infinitely more

mysterious, moving by her own power and sustained by her own resources. The sea might give her death or

some unexampled joy, and none would know of it. She was a bride going forth to her husband, a virgin

unknown of men; in her vigor and purity she might be likened to all beautiful things, for as a ship she had a

Indeed if they had not been blessed in their weather, one blue day being bowled up after another, smooth,

round, and flawless. Mrs. Ambrose would have found it very dull. As it was, she had her embroidery frame

set up on deck, with a little table by her side on which lay open a black volume of philosophy. She chose a

thread from the varicoloured tangle that lay in her lap, and sewed red into the bark of a tree, or yellow into

the river torrent. She was working at a great design of a tropical river running through a tropical forest, where

spotted deer would eventually browse upon masses of fruit, bananas, oranges, and giant pomegranates, while

a troop of naked natives whirled darts into the air. Between the stitches she looked to one side and read a

sentence about the Reality of Matter, or the Nature of Good. Round her men in blue jerseys knelt and

scrubbed the boards, or leant over the rails and whistled, and not far off Mr. Pepper sat cutting up roots with a

penknife. The rest were occupied in other parts of the ship: Ridley at his Greekhe had never found quarters

more to his liking; Willoughby at his documents, for he used a voyage to work of arrears of business; and

RachelHelen, between her sentences of philosophy, wondered sometimes what Rachel _did_ do with

herself? She meant vaguely to go and see. They had scarcely spoken two words to each other since that first

evening; they were polite when they met, but there had been no confidence of any kind. Rachel seemed to get

on very well with her fathermuch better, Helen thought, than she ought toand was as ready to let Helen

At that moment Rachel was sitting in her room doing absolutely nothing. When the ship was full this

apartment bore some magnificent title and was the resort of elderly seasick ladies who left the deck to their

youngsters. By virtue of the piano, and a mess of books on the floor, Rachel considered it her room, and there

she would sit for hours playing very difficult music, reading a little German, or a little English when the

The way she had been educated, joined to a fine natural indolence, was of course partly the reason of it, for

she had been educated as the majority of welltodo girls in the last part of the nineteenth century were

educated. Kindly doctors and gentle old professors had taught her the rudiments of about ten different

branches of knowledge, but they would as soon have forced her to go through one piece of drudgery

thoroughly as they would have told her that her hands were dirty. The one hour or the two hours weekly

passed very pleasantly, partly owing to the other pupils, partly to the fact that the window looked upon the

back of a shop, where figures appeared against the red windows in winter, partly to the accidents that are

bound to happen when more than two people are in the same room together. But there was no subject in the

world which she knew accurately. Her mind was in the state of an intelligent man's in the beginning of the

reign of Queen Elizabeth; she would believe practically anything she was told, invent reasons for anything

she said. The shape of the earth, the history of the world, how trains worked, or money was invested, what

laws were in force, which people wanted what, and why they wanted it, the most elementary idea of a system

in modern lifenone of this had been imparted to her by any of her professors or mistresses. But this system

of education had one great advantage. It did not teach anything, but it put no obstacle in the way of any real

talent that the pupil might chance to have. Rachel, being musical, was allowed to learn nothing but music; she

became a fanatic about music. All the energies that might have gone into languages, science, or literature, that

might have made her friends, or shown her the world, poured straight into music. Finding her teachers

inadequate, she had practically taught herself. At the age of twentyfour she knew as much about music as

most people do when they are thirty; and could play as well as nature allowed her to, which, as became daily

more obvious, was a really generous allowance. If this one definite gift was surrounded by dreams and ideas

Her education being thus ordinary, her circumstances were no more out of the common. She was an only

child and had never been bullied and laughed at by brothers and sisters. Her mother having died when she

was eleven, two aunts, the sisters of her father, brought her up, and they lived for the sake of the air in a

comfortable house in Richmond. She was of course brought up with excessive care, which as a child was for

her health; as a girl and a young woman was for what it seems almost crude to call her morals. Until quite

lately she had been completely ignorant that for women such things existed. She groped for knowledge in old

books, and found it in repulsive chunks, but she did not naturally care for books and thus never troubled her

head about the censorship which was exercised first by her aunts, later by her father. Friends might have told

her things, but she had few of her own age, Richmond being an awkward place to reach,and, as it

happened, the only girl she knew well was a religious zealot, who in the fervour of intimacy talked about

God, and the best ways of taking up one's cross, a topic only fitfully interesting to one whose mind reached

But lying in her chair, with one hand behind her head, the other grasping the knob on the arm, she was clearly

following her thoughts intently. Her education left her abundant time for thinking. Her eyes were fixed so

steadily upon a ball on the rail of the ship that she would have been startled and annoyed if anything had

chanced to obscure it for a second. She had begun her meditations with a shout of laughter, caused by the

In shrinking trepidation His shame he seems to hide While to the king his relation He brings the corpselike

She cried that it did, and threw down the book. Next she had picked up _Cowper's_ _Letters_, the classic

prescribed by her father which had bored her, so that one sentence chancing to say something about the smell

of broom in his garden, she had thereupon seen the little hall at Richmond laden with flowers on the day of

her mother's funeral, smelling so strong that now any flowerscent brought back the sickly horrible sensation;

and so from one scene she passed, halfhearing, halfseeing, to another. She saw her Aunt Lucy arranging

"Aunt Lucy," she volunteered, "I don't like the smell of broom; it reminds me of funerals."

"Nonsense, Rachel," Aunt Lucy replied; "don't say such foolish things, dear. I always think it a particularly

Lying in the hot sun her mind was fixed upon the characters of her aunts, their views, and the way they lived.

Indeed this was a subject that lasted her hundreds of morning walks round Richmond Park, and blotted out

the trees and the people and the deer. Why did they do the things they did, and what did they feel, and what

was it all about? Again she heard Aunt Lucy talking to Aunt Eleanor. She had been that morning to take up

the character of a servant, "And, of course, at halfpast ten in the morning one expects to find the housemaid

brushing the stairs." How odd! How unspeakably odd! But she could not explain to herself why suddenly as

her aunt spoke the whole system in which they lived had appeared before her eyes as something quite

unfamiliar and inexplicable, and themselves as chairs or umbrellas dropped about here and there without any

reason. She could only say with her slight stammer, "Are you fffond of Aunt Eleanor, Aunt Lucy?" to

which her aunt replied, with her nervous henlike twitter of a laugh, "My dear child, what questions you do

"I can't say I've ever thought 'how,'" said Miss Vinrace. "If one cares one doesn't think 'how,' Rachel," which

was aimed at the niece who had never yet "come" to her aunts as cordially as they wished.

"But you know I care for you, don't you, dear, because you're your mother's daughter, if for no other reason,

and there _are_ plenty of other reasons"and she leant over and kissed her with some emotion, and the

By these means Rachel reached that stage in thinking, if thinking it can be called, when the eyes are intent

upon a ball or a knob and the lips cease to move. Her efforts to come to an understanding had only hurt her

aunt's feelings, and the conclusion must be that it is better not to try. To feel anything strongly was to create

an abyss between oneself and others who feel strongly perhaps but differently. It was far better to play the

piano and forget all the rest. The conclusion was very welcome. Let these odd men and women her aunts,

the Hunts, Ridley, Helen, Mr. Pepper, and the rest be symbols,featureless but dignified, symbols of age,

of youth, of motherhood, of learning, and beautiful often as people upon the stage are beautiful. It appeared

that nobody ever said a thing they meant, or ever talked of a feeling they felt, but that was what music was

for. Reality dwelling in what one saw and felt, but did not talk about, one could accept a system in which

things went round and round quite satisfactorily to other people, without often troubling to think about it,

except as something superficially strange. Absorbed by her music she accepted her lot very complacently,

blazing into indignation perhaps once a fortnight, and subsiding as she subsided now. Inextricably mixed in

dreamy confusion, her mind seemed to enter into communion, to be delightfully expanded and combined

with the spirit of the whitish boards on deck, with the spirit of the sea, with the spirit of Beethoven Op. 112,

even with the spirit of poor William Cowper there at Olney. Like a ball of thistledown it kissed the sea, rose,

kissed it again, and thus rising and kissing passed finally out of sight. The rising and falling of the ball of

thistledown was represented by the sudden droop forward of her own head, and when it passed out of sight

Ten minutes later Mrs. Ambrose opened the door and looked at her. It did not surprise her to find that this

was the way in which Rachel passed her mornings. She glanced round the room at the piano, at the books, at

the general mess. In the first place she considered Rachel aesthetically; lying unprotected she looked

somehow like a victim dropped from the claws of a bird of prey, but considered as a woman, a young woman

of twentyfour, the sight gave rise to reflections. Mrs. Ambrose stood thinking for at least two minutes. She

then smiled, turned noiselessly away and went, lest the sleeper should waken, and there should be the

Early next morning there was a sound as of chains being drawn roughly overhead; the steady heart of the

_Euphrosyne_ slowly ceased to beat; and Helen, poking her nose above deck, saw a stationary castle upon a

stationary hill. They had dropped anchor in the mouth of the Tagus, and instead of cleaving new waves

perpetually, the same waves kept returning and washing against the sides of the ship.

As soon as breakfast was done, Willoughby disappeared over the vessel's side, carrying a brown leather case,

shouting over his shoulder that every one was to mind and behave themselves, for he would be kept in Lisbon

At about that hour he reappeared, carrying his case, professing himself tired, bothered, hungry, thirsty, cold,

and in immediate need of his tea. Rubbing his hands, he told them the adventures of the day: how he had

come upon poor old Jackson combing his moustache before the glass in the office, little expecting his

descent, had put him through such a morning's work as seldom came his way; then treated him to a lunch of

champagne and ortolans; paid a call upon Mrs. Jackson, who was fatter than ever, poor woman, but asked

kindly after Rachel and O Lord, little Jackson had confessed to a confounded piece of weaknesswell,

well, no harm was done, he supposed, but what was the use of his giving orders if they were promptly

disobeyed? He had said distinctly that he would take no passengers on this trip. Here he began searching in

his pockets and eventually discovered a card, which he planked down on the table before Rachel. On it she

"Mr. Richard Dalloway," continued Vinrace, "seems to be a gentleman who thinks that because he was once

a member of Parliament, and his wife's the daughter of a peer, they can have what they like for the asking.

They got round poor little Jackson anyhow. Said they must have passagesproduced a letter from Lord

Glenaway, asking me as a personal favouroverruled any objections Jackson made (I don't believe they

But it was evident that for some reason or other Willoughby was quite pleased to submit, although he made a

The truth was that Mr. and Mrs. Dalloway had found themselves stranded in Lisbon. They had been

travelling on the Continent for some weeks, chiefly with a view to broadening Mr. Dalloway's mind. Unable

for a season, by one of the accidents of political life, to serve his country in Parliament, Mr. Dalloway was

doing the best he could to serve it out of Parliament. For that purpose the Latin countries did very well,

"Expect to hear of me next in Petersburg or Teheran," he had said, turning to wave farewell from the steps of

the Travellers'. But a disease had broken out in the East, there was cholera in Russia, and he was heard of, not

so romantically, in Lisbon. They had been through France; he had stopped at manufacturing centres where,

producing letters of introduction, he had been shown over works, and noted facts in a pocketbook. In Spain

he and Mrs. Dalloway had mounted mules, for they wished to understand how the peasants live. Are they ripe

for rebellion, for example? Mrs. Dalloway had then insisted upon a day or two at Madrid with the pictures.

Finally they arrived in Lisbon and spent six days which, in a journal privately issued afterwards, they

described as of "unique interest." Richard had audiences with ministers, and foretold a crisis at no distant

date, "the foundations of government being incurably corrupt. Yet how blame, etc."; while Clarissa inspected

the royal stables, and took several snapshots showing men now exiled and windows now broken. Among

other things she photographed Fielding's grave, and let loose a small bird which some ruffian had trapped,

"because one hates to think of anything in a cage where English people lie buried," the diary stated. Their

tour was thoroughly unconventional, and followed no meditated plan. The foreign correspondents of the

_Times_ decided their route as much as anything else. Mr. Dalloway wished to look at certain guns, and was

of opinion that the African coast is far more unsettled than people at home were inclined to believe. For these

reasons they wanted a slow inquisitive kind of ship, comfortable, for they were bad sailors, but not

extravagant, which would stop for a day or two at this port and at that, taking in coal while the Dalloways

saw things for themselves. Meanwhile they found themselves stranded in Lisbon, unable for the moment to

lay hands upon the precise vessel they wanted. They heard of the _Euphrosyne_, but heard also that she was

primarily a cargo boat, and only took passengers by special arrangement, her business being to carry dry

goods to the Amazons, and rubber home again. "By special arrangement," however, were words of high

encouragement to them, for they came of a class where almost everything was specially arranged, or could be

if necessary. On this occasion all that Richard did was to write a note to Lord Glenaway, the head of the line

which bears his title; to call on poor old Jackson; to represent to him how Mrs. Dalloway was soandso, and

he had been something or other else, and what they wanted was such and such a thing. It was done. They

parted with compliments and pleasure on both sides, and here, a week later, came the boat rowing up to the

ship in the dusk with the Dalloways on board of it; in three minutes they were standing together on the deck

of the _Euphrosyne_. Their arrival, of course, created some stir, and it was seen by several pairs of eyes that

Mrs. Dalloway was a tall slight woman, her body wrapped in furs, her head in veils, while Mr. Dalloway

appeared to be a middlesized man of sturdy build, dressed like a sportsman on an autumnal moor. Many

solid leather bags of a rich brown hue soon surrounded them, in addition to which Mr. Dalloway carried a

despatch box, and his wife a dressingcase suggestive of a diamond necklace and bottles with silver tops.

"It's so like Whistler!" she exclaimed, with a wave towards the shore, as she shook Rachel by the hand, and

Rachel had only time to look at the grey hills on one side of her before Willoughby introduced Mrs. Chailey,

Momentary though it seemed, nevertheless the interruption was upsetting; every one was more or less put out

by it, from Mr. Grice, the steward, to Ridley himself. A few minutes later Rachel passed the smokingroom,

and found Helen moving armchairs. She was absorbed in her arrangements, and on seeing Rachel remarked

"If one can give men a room to themselves where they will sit, it's all to the good. Armchairs are _the_

important things" She began wheeling them about. "Now, does it still look like a bar at a railway station?"

She whipped a plush cover off a table. The appearance of the place was marvellously improved.

Again, the arrival of the strangers made it obvious to Rachel, as the hour of dinner approached, that she must

change her dress; and the ringing of the great bell found her sitting on the edge of her berth in such a position

that the little glass above the washstand reflected her head and shoulders. In the glass she wore an expression

of tense melancholy, for she had come to the depressing conclusion, since the arrival of the Dalloways, that

However, punctuality had been impressed on her, and whatever face she had, she must go in to dinner.

These few minutes had been used by Willoughby in sketching to the Dalloways the people they were to meet,

"There's my brotherinlaw, Ambrose, the scholar (I daresay you've heard his name), his wife, my old friend

Pepper, a very quiet fellow, but knows everything, I'm told. And that's all. We're a very small party. I'm

Mrs. Dalloway, with her head a little on one side, did her best to recollect Ambrosewas it a surname?but

failed. She was made slightly uneasy by what she had heard. She knew that scholars married any onegirls

they met in farms on reading parties; or little suburban women who said disagreeably, "Of course I know it's

But Helen came in at that point, and Mrs. Dalloway saw with relief that though slightly eccentric in

appearance, she was not untidy, held herself well, and her voice had restraint in it, which she held to be the

"But after all," Clarissa thought to herself as she followed Vinrace in to dinner, "_every_ _one's_ interesting

When seated at the table she had some need of that assurance, chiefly because of Ridley, who came in late,

An imperceptible signal passed between husband and wife, meaning that they grasped the situation and

would stand by each other loyally. With scarcely a pause Mrs. Dalloway turned to Willoughby and began:

"What I find so tiresome about the sea is that there are no flowers in it. Imagine fields of hollyhocks and

"But somewhat dangerous to navigation," boomed Richard, in the bass, like the bassoon to the flourish of his

wife's violin. "Why, weeds can be bad enough, can't they, Vinrace? I remember crossing in the _Mauretania_

once, and saying to the CaptainRichardsdid you know him?'Now tell me what perils you really dread

most for your ship, Captain Richards?' expecting him to say icebergs, or derelicts, or fog, or something of that

sort. Not a bit of it. I've always remembered his answer. '_Sedgius_ _aquatici_,' he said, which I take to be a

Mr. Pepper looked up sharply, and was about to put a question when Willoughby continued:

"Yes, indeed," said Clarissa. She turned to Helen with an air of profundity. "I'm convinced people are wrong

when they say it's work that wears one; it's responsibility. That's why one pays one's cook more than one's

"According to that, one ought to pay one's nurse double; but one doesn't," said Helen.

"No; but think what a joy to have to do with babies, instead of saucepans!" said Mrs. Dalloway, looking with

"I'd much rather be a cook than a nurse," said Helen. "Nothing would induce me to take charge of children."

"Mothers always exaggerate," said Ridley. "A wellbred child is no responsibility. I've travelled all over

"How like a father! My husband's just the same. And then one talks of the equality of the sexes!"

"Oh, some do!" cried Clarissa. "My husband had to pass an irate lady every afternoon last session who said

"She sat outside the house; it was very awkward," said Dalloway. "At last I plucked up courage and said to

her, 'My good creature, you're only in the way where you are. You're hindering me, and you're doing no good

"And then she caught him by the coat, and would have scratched his eyes out" Mrs. Dalloway put in.

"Poohthat's been exaggerated," said Richard. "No, I pity them, I confess. The discomfort of sitting on those

"Oh, I'm entirely with you there," said Dalloway. "Nobody can condemn the utter folly and futility of such

behaviour more than I do; and as for the whole agitation, well! may I be in my grave before a woman has the

"It's unthinkable," she said. "Don't tell me you're a suffragist?" she turned to Ridley.

"I don't care a fig one way or t'other," said Ambrose. "If any creature is so deluded as to think that a vote does

"I'm afraid your husband won't approve of me," said Dalloway aside, to Mrs. Ambrose. She suddenly

"Don't you ever find it rather dull?" she asked, not knowing exactly what to say.

Richard spread his hands before him, as if inscriptions were to be read in the palms of them.

"If you ask me whether I ever find it rather dull," he said, "I am bound to say yes; on the other hand, if you

ask me what career do you consider on the whole, taking the good with the bad, the most enjoyable and

enviable, not to speak of its more serious side, of all careers, for a man, I am bound to say, 'The Politician's.'"

"The Bar or politics, I agree," said Willoughby. "You get more run for your money."

"All one's faculties have their play," said Richard. "I may be treading on dangerous ground; but what I feel

about poets and artists in general is this: on your own lines, you can't be beaten granted; but off your own

linespuffone has to make allowances. Now, I shouldn't like to think that any one had to make

"I don't quite agree, Richard," said Mrs. Dalloway. "Think of Shelley. I feel that there's almost everything one

"Read 'Adonais' by all means," Richard conceded. "But whenever I hear of Shelley I repeat to myself the

This roused Ridley's attention. "Matthew Arnold? A detestable prig!" he snapped.

"A priggranted," said Richard; "but, I think a man of the world. That's where my point comes in. We

politicians doubtless seem to you" (he grasped somehow that Helen was the representative of the arts) "a

gross commonplace set of people; but we see both sides; we may be clumsy, but we do our best to get a grasp

of things. Now your artists _find_ things in a mess, shrug their shoulders, turn aside to their visionswhich I

grant may be very beautiful and _leave_ things in a mess. Now that seems to me evading one's

"It's dreadful," said Mrs. Dalloway, who, while her husband spoke, had been thinking. "When I'm with artists

I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one's own, with pictures and music

and everything beautiful, and then I go out into the streets and the first child I meet with its poor, hungry,

dirty little face makes me turn round and say, 'No, I _can't_ shut myself upI _won't_ live in a world of my

own. I should like to stop all the painting and writing and music until this kind of thing exists no longer.'

Don't you feel," she wound up, addressing Helen, "that life's a perpetual conflict?" Helen considered for a

There was a pause, which was decidedly uncomfortable. Mrs. Dalloway then gave a little shiver, and asked

whether she might have her fur cloak brought to her. As she adjusted the soft brown fur about her neck a

"I own," she said, "that I shall never forget the _Antigone_. I saw it at Cambridge years ago, and it's haunted

me ever since. Don't you think it's quite the most modern thing you ever saw?" she asked Ridley. "It seemed

to me I'd known twenty Clytemnestras. Old Lady Ditchling for one. I don't know a word of Greek, but I could

{Some editions of the work contain a brief passage from Antigone, in Greek, at this spot. ed.}

"I could teach you the alphabet in half an hour," said Ridley, "and you'd read Homer in a month. I should

Helen, engaged with Mr. Dalloway and the habit, now fallen into decline, of quoting Greek in the House of

Commons, noted, in the great commonplace book that lies open beside us as we talk, the fact that all men,

Clarissa exclaimed that she could think of nothing more delightful. For an instant she saw herself in her

drawingroom in Browne Street with a Plato open on her kneesPlato in the original Greek. She could not

help believing that a real scholar, if specially interested, could slip Greek into her head with scarcely any

"If only your ship is going to treat us kindly!" she exclaimed, drawing Willoughby into play. For the sake of

guests, and these were distinguished, Willoughby was ready with a bow of his head to vouch for the good

"I am never sick," Richard explained. "At least, I have only been actually sick once," he corrected himself.

"That was crossing the Channel. But a choppy sea, I confess, or still worse, a swell, makes me distinctly

uncomfortable. The great thing is never to miss a meal. You look at the food, and you say, 'I can't'; you take a

mouthful, and Lord knows how you're going to swallow it; but persevere, and you often settle the attack for

Rachel followed. She had taken no part in the talk; no one had spoken to her; but she had listened to every

word that was said. She had looked from Mrs. Dalloway to Mr. Dalloway, and from Mr. Dalloway back

again. Clarissa, indeed, was a fascinating spectacle. She wore a white dress and a long glittering necklace.

What with her clothes, and her arch delicate face, which showed exquisitely pink beneath hair turning grey,

she was astonishingly like an eighteenthcentury masterpiecea Reynolds or a Romney. She made Helen

and the others look coarse and slovenly beside her. Sitting lightly upright she seemed to be dealing with the

world as she chose; the enormous solid globe spun round this way and that beneath her fingers. And her

husband! Mr. Dalloway rolling that rich deliberate voice was even more impressive. He seemed to come from

the humming oily centre of the machine where the polished rods are sliding, and the pistons thumping; he

grasped things so firmly but so loosely; he made the others appear like old maids cheapening remnants.

Rachel followed in the wake of the matrons, as if in a trance; a curious scent of violets came back from Mrs.

Dalloway, mingling with the soft rustling of her skirts, and the tinkling of her chains. As she followed,

Rachel thought with supreme selfabasement, taking in the whole course of her life and the lives of all her

friends, "She said we lived in a world of our own. It's true. We're perfectly absurd."

"You play?" said Mrs. Dalloway to Mrs. Ambrose, taking up the score of _Tristan_ which lay on the table.

"Oh, how I envy you!" Clarissa addressed Rachel for the first time. "D'you remember this? Isn't it divine?"

"And then Tristan goes like this, and Isoldeoh!it's all too thrilling! Have you been to Bayreuth?"

"No, I haven't," said Rachel. `"Then that's still to come. I shall never forget my first _Parsifal_a grilling

August day, and those fat old German women, come in their stuffy high frocks, and then the dark theatre, and

the music beginning, and one couldn't help sobbing. A kind man went and fetched me water, I remember; and

I could only cry on his shoulder! It caught me here" (she touched her throat). "It's like nothing else in the

"But you will play to us?" Clarissa entreated. "I can't imagine anything nicer than to sit out in the moonlight

and listen to music only that sounds too like a schoolgirl! You know," she said, turning to Helen, "I don't

"Too emotional, somehow," said Clarissa. "One notices it at once when a boy or girl takes up music as a

profession. Sir William Broadley told me just the same thing. Don't you hate the kind of attitudes people go

into over Wagnerlike this" She cast her eyes to the ceiling, clasped her hands, and assumed a look of

intensity. "It really doesn't mean that they appreciate him; in fact, I always think it's the other way round. The

people who really care about an art are always the least affected. D'you know Henry Philips, the painter?" she

"To look at, one might think he was a successful stockbroker, and not one of the greatest painters of the age.

"There are a great many successful stockbrokers, if you like looking at them," said Helen.

"When you see a musician with long hair, don't you know instinctively that he's bad?" Clarissa asked, turning

"And how much nicer they'd have looked with curls!" said Helen. "The question is, are you going to aim at

"There's something one knows a gentleman by," said Clarissa, "but one can't say what it is."

The question seemed to Clarissa in extraordinarily bad taste. "One of the things that can't be said," she would

"Well, anyhow," she said, turning to Rachel, "I shall insist upon your playing to me tomorrow."

"D'you know," she said, "I'm extraordinarily sleepy. It's the sea air. I think I shall escape."

A man's voice, which she took to be that of Mr. Pepper, strident in discussion, and advancing upon the

Her yawn must have been the image of a yawn. Instead of letting her mouth droop, dropping all her clothes in

a bunch as though they depended on one string, and stretching her limbs to the utmost end of her berth, she

merely changed her dress for a dressinggown, with innumerable frills, and wrapping her feet in a rug, sat

down with a writingpad on her knee. Already this cramped little cabin was the dressing room of a lady of

quality. There were bottles containing liquids; there were trays, boxes, brushes, pins. Evidently not an inch of

her person lacked its proper instrument. The scent which had intoxicated Rachel pervaded the air. Thus

established, Mrs. Dalloway began to write. A pen in her hands became a thing one caressed paper with, and

Picture us, my dear, afloat in the very oddest ship you can imagine. It's not the ship, so much as the people.

One does come across queer sorts as one travels. I must say I find it hugely amusing. There's the manager of

the linecalled Vinracea nice big Englishman, doesn't say muchyou know the sort. As for the

restthey might have come trailing out of an old number of _Punch_. They're like people playing croquet in

the 'sixties. How long they've all been shut up in this ship I don't knowyears and years I should say but

one feels as though one had boarded a little separate world, and they'd never been on shore, or done ordinary

things in their lives. It's what I've always said about literary people they're far the hardest of any to get on

with. The worst of it is, these peoplea man and his wife and a niecemight have been, one feels, just like

everybody else, if they hadn't got swallowed up by Oxford or Cambridge or some such place, and been made

cranks of. The man's really delightful (if he'd cut his nails), and the woman has quite a fine face, only she

dresses, of course, in a potato sack, and wears her hair like a Liberty shopgirl's. They talk about art, and think

us such poops for dressing in the evening. However, I can't help that; I'd rather die than come in to dinner

without changing wouldn't you? It matters ever so much more than the soup. (It's odd how things like that

_do_ matter so much more than what's generally supposed to matter. I'd rather have my head cut off than

wear flannel next the skin.) Then there's a nice shy girl poor thingI wish one could rake her out before

it's too late. She has quite nice eyes and hair, only, of course, she'll get funny too. We ought to start a society

for broadening the minds of the youngmuch more useful than missionaries, Hester! Oh, I'd forgotten

there's a dreadful little thing called Pepper. He's just like his name. He's indescribably insignificant, and

rather queer in his temper, poor dear. It's like sitting down to dinner with an illconditioned foxterrier, only

one can't comb him out, and sprinkle him with powder, as one would one's dog. It's a pity, sometimes, one

can't treat people like dogs! The great comfort is that we're away from newspapers, so that Richard will have

"I gather that he was a Cambridge don; lives in London now, and edits classics."

"Did you ever see such a set of cranks? The woman asked me if I thought her husband looked like a

"It was hard to keep the ball rolling at dinner, certainly," said Richard. "Why is it that the women, in that

They both laughed, thinking of the same things, so that there was no need to compare their impressions.

"I see I shall have quite a lot to say to Vinrace," said Richard. "He knows Sutton and all that set. He can tell

"One always has something to say to a man certainly," said Richard. "But I've no doubt you'll chatter away

"Good Lord, what opportunities there are now for young men!" said Dalloway, for his talk had set him

thinking. "I don't suppose there's been so good an opening since the days of Pitt."

"To be a leader of men," Richard soliloquised. "It's a fine career. My Godwhat a career!"

"D'you know, Dick, I can't help thinking of England," said his wife meditatively, leaning her head against his

chest. "Being on this ship seems to make it so much more vividwhat it really means to be English. One

thinks of all we've done, and our navies, and the people in India and Africa, and how we've gone on century

after century, sending out boys from little country villages and of men like you, Dick, and it makes one

feel as if one couldn't bear _not_ to be English! Think of the light burning over the House, Dick! When I

"It's the continuity," said Richard sententiously. A vision of English history, King following King, Prime

Minister Prime Minister, and Law Law had come over him while his wife spoke. He ran his mind along the

line of conservative policy, which went steadily from Lord Salisbury to Alfred, and gradually enclosed, as

though it were a lasso that opened and caught things, enormous chunks of the habitable globe.

"It's taken a long time, but we've pretty nearly done it," he said; "it remains to consolidate."

"It takes all sorts to make a world," said her husband. "There would never be a government if there weren't an

"Dick, you're better than I am," said Clarissa. "You see round, where I only see _there_." She pressed a point

"What I like about you, Dick," she continued, "is that you're always the same, and I'm a creature of moods."

He kissed her passionately, so that her halfwritten letter slid to the ground. Picking it up, he read it without

R.D. _loquitur_: Clarice has omitted to tell you that she looked exceedingly pretty at dinner, and made a

conquest by which she has bound herself to learn the Greek alphabet. I will take this occasion of adding that

we are both enjoying ourselves in these outlandish parts, and only wish for the presence of our friends

(yourself and John, to wit) to make the trip perfectly enjoyable as it promises to be instructive. . . .

Voices were heard at the end of the corridor. Mrs. Ambrose was speaking low; William Pepper was

remarking in his definite and rather acid voice, "That is the type of lady with whom I find myself distinctly

But neither Richard nor Clarissa profited by the verdict, for directly it seemed likely that they would

"I often wonder," Clarissa mused in bed, over the little white volume of Pascal which went with her

everywhere, "whether it is really good for a woman to live with a man who is morally her superior, as

Richard is mine. It makes one so dependent. I suppose I feel for him what my mother and women of her

generation felt for Christ. It just shows that one can't do without _something_." She then fell into a sleep,

which was as usual extremely sound and refreshing, but visited by fantastic dreams of great Greek letters

stalking round the room, when she woke up and laughed to herself, remembering where she was and that the

Greek letters were real people, lying asleep not many yards away. Then, thinking of the black sea outside

tossing beneath the moon, she shuddered, and thought of her husband and the others as companions on the

voyage. The dreams were not confined to her indeed, but went from one brain to another. They all dreamt of

each other that night, as was natural, considering how thin the partitions were between them, and how

strangely they had been lifted off the earth to sit next each other in midocean, and see every detail of each

Next morning Clarissa was up before anyone else. She dressed, and was out on deck, breathing the fresh air

of a calm morning, and, making the circuit of the ship for the second time, she ran straight into the lean

person of Mr. Grice, the steward. She apologised, and at the same time asked him to enlighten her: what were

those shiny brass stands for, half glass on the top? She had been wondering, and could not guess. When he

"And what d'you know about it?" said Mr. Grice, kindling in a strange manner. "Pardon me. What does any

man or woman brought up in England know about the sea? They profess to know; but they don't."

The bitterness with which he spoke was ominous of what was to come. He led her off to his own quarters,

and, sitting on the edge of a brassbound table, looking uncommonly like a seagull, with her white tapering

body and thin alert face, Mrs. Dalloway had to listen to the tirade of a fanatical man. Did she realise, to begin

with, what a very small part of the world the land was? How peaceful, how beautiful, how benignant in

comparison the sea? The deep waters could sustain Europe unaided if every earthly animal died of the plague

tomorrow. Mr. Grice recalled dreadful sights which he had seen in the richest city of the worldmen and

women standing in line hour after hour to receive a mug of greasy soup. "And I thought of the good flesh

down here waiting and asking to be caught. I'm not exactly a Protestant, and I'm not a Catholic, but I could

As he talked he kept opening drawers and moving little glass jars. Here were the treasures which the great

ocean had bestowed upon him pale fish in greenish liquids, blobs of jelly with streaming tresses, fish with

"You're thinking of Shakespeare," said Mr. Grice, and taking down a copy from a shelf well lined with books,

_Hamlet_ was what you might call too introspective for Mr. Grice, the sonnets too passionate; Henry the

Fifth was to him the model of an English gentleman. But his favourite reading was Huxley, Herbert Spencer,

and Henry George; while Emerson and Thomas Hardy he read for relaxation. He was giving Mrs. Dalloway

his views upon the present state of England when the breakfast bell rung so imperiously that she had to tear

The party, which had seemed so odd to her the night before, was already gathered round the table, still under

the influence of sleep, and therefore uncommunicative, but her entrance sent a little flutter like a breath of air

"I've had the most interesting talk of my life!" she exclaimed, taking her seat beside Willoughby. "D'you

"A very interesting fellowthat's what I always say," said Willoughby, distinguishing Mr. Grice. "Though

"He's a bore when he talks about currents," said Rachel. Her eyes were full of sleep, but Mrs. Dalloway still

"And I should say the world was full of them!" exclaimed Helen. But her beauty, which was radiant in the

"I agree that it's the worst one can possibly say of any one," said Clarissa. "How much rather one would be a

murderer than a bore!" she added, with her usual air of saying something profound. "One can fancy liking a

It happened that Richard was sitting next to Rachel. She was curiously conscious of his presence and

appearancehis wellcut clothes, his crackling shirtfront, his cuffs with blue rings round them, and the

squaretipped, very clean fingers with the red stone on the little finger of the left hand.

"We had a dog who was a bore and knew it," he said, addressing her in cool, easy tones. "He was a Skye

terrier, one of those long chaps, with little feet poking out from their hair like like caterpillarsno, like

sofas I should say. Well, we had another dog at the same time, a black brisk animala Schipperke, I think,

you call them. You can't imagine a greater contrast. The Skye so slow and deliberate, looking up at you like

some old gentleman in the club, as much as to say, "You don't really mean it, do you?" and the Schipperke as

quick as a knife. I liked the Skye best, I must confess. There was something pathetic about him."

"That's a very sad story," said Richard, lowering his voice and peeling an apple. "He followed my wife in the

"Don't talk of it!" she cried. "It's a thing I can't bear to think of to this day."

"That's the painful thing about pets," said Mr. Dalloway; "they die. The first sorrow I can remember was for

the death of a dormouse. I regret to say that I sat upon it. Still, that didn't make one any the less sorry. Here

"Then we had canaries," he continued, "a pair of ringdoves, a lemur, and at one time a martin."

"We lived in the country for six months of the year. When I say 'we' I mean four sisters, a brother, and

myself. There's nothing like coming of a large family. Sisters particularly are delightful."

Rachel had other questions on the tip of her tongue; or rather one enormous question, which she did not in the

"Please tell meeverything." That was what she wanted to say. He had drawn apart one little chink and

showed astonishing treasures. It seemed to her incredible that a man like that should be willing to talk to her.

He had sisters and pets, and once lived in the country. She stirred her tea round and round; the bubbles which

The talk meanwhile raced past her, and when Richard suddenly stated in a jocular tone of voice, "I'm sure

Miss Vinrace, now, has secret leanings towards Catholicism," she had no idea what to answer, and Helen

However, breakfast was over and Mrs. Dalloway was rising. "I always think religion's like collecting

beetles," she said, summing up the discussion as she went up the stairs with Helen. "One person has a passion

for black beetles; another hasn't; it's no good arguing about it. What's _your_ black beetle now?"

"Ahthat's different," Clarissa breathed. "Do tell me. You have a boy, haven't you? Isn't it detestable,

It was as though a blue shadow had fallen across a pool. Their eyes became deeper, and their voices more

cordial. Instead of joining them as they began to pace the deck, Rachel was indignant with the prosperous

matrons, who made her feel outside their world and motherless, and turning back, she left them abruptly. She

slammed the door of her room, and pulled out her music. It was all old musicBach and Beethoven, Mozart

and Purcell the pages yellow, the engraving rough to the finger. In three minutes she was deep in a very

difficult, very classical fugue in A, and over her face came a queer remote impersonal expression of complete

absorption and anxious satisfaction. Now she stumbled; now she faltered and had to play the same bar twice

over; but an invisible line seemed to string the notes together, from which rose a shape, a building. She was

so far absorbed in this work, for it was really difficult to find how all these sounds should stand together, and

drew upon the whole of her faculties, that she never heard a knock at the door. It was burst impulsively open,

and Mrs. Dalloway stood in the room leaving the door open, so that a strip of the white deck and of the blue

sea appeared through the opening. The shape of the Bach fugue crashed to the ground.

"Don't let me interrupt," Clarissa implored. "I heard you playing, and I couldn't resist. I adore Bach!"

She slid _Cowper's_ _Letters_ and _Wuthering_ _Heights_ out of the armchair, so that Clarissa was invited

"What a dear little room!" she said, looking round. "Oh, _Cowper's_ _Letters>!" I've never read them. Are

"He wrote awfully well, didn't he?" said Clarissa; "if one likes that kind of thingfinished his sentences

and all that. _Wuthering_ _Heights_! Ahthat's more in my line. I really couldn't exist without the Brontes!

Don't you love them? Still, on the whole, I'd rather live without them than without Jane Austen."

Lightly and at random though she spoke, her manner conveyed an extraordinary degree of sympathy and

"She's sosowell, so like a tight plait," Rachel floundered. "AhI see what you mean. But I don't agree.

And you won't when you're older. At your age I only liked Shelley. I can remember sobbing over him in the

He has outsoared the shadow of our night, Envy and calumny and hate and pain you remember?

Can touch him not and torture not again From the contagion of the world's slow stain.

How divine!and yet what nonsense!" She looked lightly round the room. "I always think it's _living_, not

dying, that counts. I really respect some snuffy old stockbroker who's gone on adding up column after

column all his days, and trotting back to his villa at Brixton with some old pug dog he worships, and a dreary

little wife sitting at the end of the table, and going off to Margate for a fortnight I assure you I know heaps

like thatwell, they seem to me _really_ nobler than poets whom every one worships, just because they're

"when you're my age you'll see that the world is _crammed_ with delightful things. I think young people

make such a mistake about that not letting themselves be happy. I sometimes think that happiness is the

only thing that counts. I don't know you well enough to say, but I should guess you might be a little inclined

towhen one's young and attractiveI'm going to say it!_every_thing's at one's feet." She glanced round

"I long to ask questions," she continued. "You interest me so much. If I'm impertinent, you must just box my

"And II want to ask questions," said Rachel with such earnestness that Mrs. Dalloway had to check her

The shores of Portugal were beginning to lose their substance; but the land was still the land, though at a

great distance. They could distinguish the little towns that were sprinkled in the folds of the hills, and the

smoke rising faintly. The towns appeared to be very small in comparison with the great purple mountains

"Honestly, though," said Clarissa, having looked, "I don't like views. They're too inhuman." They walked on.

"How odd it is!" she continued impulsively. "This time yesterday we'd never met. I was packing in a stuffy

little room in the hotel. We know absolutely nothing about each otherand yetI feel as if I _did_ know

"No; and some people _are_ dogs; aren't they?" said Clarissa, as if she had guessed a secret. "But not every

"I can quite imagine you walking alone," said Clarissa: "and thinking in a little world of your own. But

"I shall enjoy walking with a manis that what you mean?" said Rachel, regarding Mrs. Dalloway with her

"I shouldn't be so sure of that," said Clarissa. Her sidelong glance told Rachel that she found her attractive

Rachel followed her eyes and found that they rested for a second, on the robust figure of Richard Dalloway,

who was engaged in striking a match on the sole of his boot; while Willoughby expounded something, which

"There's nothing like it," she concluded. "Do tell me about the Ambroses. Or am I asking too many

The short sketch of the Ambroses was, however, somewhat perfunctory, and contained little but the fact that

When a name has dropped out of use, the lightest touch upon it tells. Mrs. Dalloway went on:

She was overcome by an intense desire to tell Mrs. Dalloway things she had never told any onethings she

"I am lonely," she began. "I want" She did not know what she wanted, so that she could not finish the

"I know," she said, actually putting one arm round Rachel's shoulder. "When I was your age I wanted too. No

one understood until I met Richard. He gave me all I wanted. He's man and woman as well." Her eyes rested

upon Mr. Dalloway, leaning upon the rail, still talking. "Don't think I say that because I'm his wife I see his

faults more clearly than I see any one else's. What one wants in the person one lives with is that they should

keep one at one's best. I often wonder what I've done to be so happy!" she exclaimed, and a tear slid down her

"How good life is!" At that moment, standing out in the fresh breeze, with the sun upon the waves, and Mrs.

Dalloway's hand upon her arm, it seemed indeed as if life which had been unnamed before was infinitely

Here Helen passed them, and seeing Rachel arminarm with a comparative stranger, looking excited, was

amused, but at the same time slightly irritated. But they were immediately joined by Richard, who had

"Observe my Panama," he said, touching the brim of his hat. "Are you aware, Miss Vinrace, how much can

be done to induce fine weather by appropriate headdress? I have determined that it is a hot summer day; I

warn you that nothing you can say will shake me. Therefore I am going to sit down. I advise you to follow

"That's a very pretty blue," he said. "But there's a little too much of it. Variety is essential to a view. Thus, if

you have hills you ought to have a river; if a river, hills. The best view in the world in my opinion is that from

Boars Hill on a fine day it must be a fine day, mark youA rug?Oh, thank you, my dear. . . . in that

"Thatif I may say sois because you have not read her," said Richard. "She is incomparably the greatest

"She is the greatest," he continued, "and for this reason: she does not attempt to write like a man. Every other

"Produce your instances, Miss Vinrace," he went on, joining his fingertips. "I'm ready to be converted."

He waited, while Rachel vainly tried to vindicate her sex from the slight he put upon it.

"I brought _Persuasion_," she went on, "because I thought it was a little less threadbare than the

othersthough, Dick, it's no good _your_ pretending to know Jane by heart, considering that she always

"You're not to think about those guns," said Clarissa, seeing that his eye, passing over the waves, still sought

the land meditatively, "or about navies, or empires, or anything." So saying she opened the book and began to

"'Sir Walter Elliott, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took

up any book but the _Baronetage_' don't you know Sir Walter?'There he found occupation for an idle

hour, and consolation in a distressed one.' She does write well, doesn't she? 'There'" She read on in a light

humorous voice. She was determined that Sir Walter should take her husband's mind off the guns of Britain,

and divert him in an exquisite, quaint, sprightly, and slightly ridiculous world. After a time it appeared that

the sun was sinking in that world, and the points becoming softer. Rachel looked up to see what caused the

change. Richard's eyelids were closing and opening; opening and closing. A loud nasal breath announced that

"Triumph!" Clarissa whispered at the end of a sentence. Suddenly she raised her hand in protest. A sailor

hesitated; she gave the book to Rachel, and stepped lightly to take the message"Mr. Grice wished to know

if it was convenient," etc. She followed him. Ridley, who had prowled unheeded, started forward, stopped,

and, with a gesture of disgust, strode off to his study. The sleeping politician was left in Rachel's charge. She

read a sentence, and took a look at him. In sleep he looked like a coat hanging at the end of a bed; there were

all the wrinkles, and the sleeves and trousers kept their shape though no longer filled out by legs and arms.

You can then best judge the age and state of the coat. She looked him all over until it seemed to her that he

He was a man of forty perhaps; and here there were lines round his eyes, and there curious clefts in his

"Sisters and a dormouse and some canaries," Rachel murmured, never taking her eyes off him. "I wonder, I

wonder" she ceased, her chin upon her hand, still looking at him. A bell chimed behind them, and Richard

raised his head. Then he opened his eyes which wore for a second the queer look of a shortsighted person's

whose spectacles are lost. It took him a moment to recover from the impropriety of having snored, and

possibly grunted, before a young lady. To wake and find oneself left alone with one was also slightly

"I might have guessed," said Richard. "It's a common occurrence. And how have you improved the shining

"That's what I always find. There are too many things to look at. I find nature very stimulating myself. My

"WalkingridingyachtingI suppose the most momentous conversations of my life took place while

perambulating the great court at Trinity. I was at both universities. It was a fad of my father's. He thought it

broadening to the mind. I think I agree with him. I can remember what an age ago it seems!settling the

basis of a future state with the present Secretary for India. We thought ourselves very wise. I'm not sure we

weren't. We were happy, Miss Vinrace, and we were young gifts which make for wisdom."

"A searching question! I answerYes and No. If on the one hand I have not accomplished what I set out to

accomplishwhich of us does! on the other I can fairly say this: I have not lowered my ideal."

He looked resolutely at a seagull, as though his ideal flew on the wings of the bird.

She could only say that she wanted to know, and Richard was sufficiently amused to answer.

"Well, how shall I reply? In one wordUnity. Unity of aim, of dominion, of progress. The dispersion of the

"I grant that the English seem, on the whole, whiter than most men, their records cleaner. But, good Lord,

don't run away with the idea that I don't see the drawbackshorrorsunmentionable things done in our very

midst! I'm under no illusions. Few people, I suppose, have fewer illusions than I have. Have you ever been in

As for Rachel, she had scarcely walked through a poor street, and always under the escort of father, maid, or

"I was going to say that if you'd ever seen the kind of thing that's going on round you, you'd understand what

it is that makes me and men like me politicians. You asked me a moment ago whether I'd done what I set out

to do. Well, when I consider my life, there is one fact I admit that I'm proud of; owing to me some thousands

of girls in Lancashireand many thousands to come after them can spend an hour every day in the open

air which their mothers had to spend over their looms. I'm prouder of that, I own, than I should be of writing

It became painful to Rachel to be one of those who write Keats and Shelley. She liked Richard Dalloway, and

"It's far better that you should know nothing," he said paternally, "and you wrong yourself, I'm sure. You play

"I never allow my wife to talk politics," he said seriously. "For this reason. It is impossible for human beings,

constituted as they are, both to fight and to have ideals. If I have preserved mine, as I am thankful to say that

in great measure I have, it is due to the fact that I have been able to come home to my wife in the evening and

to find that she has spent her day in calling, music, play with the children, domestic dutieswhat you will;

her illusions have not been destroyed. She gives me courage to go on. The strain of public life is very great,"

This made him appear a battered martyr, parting every day with some of the finest gold, in the service of

His kindness was genuine, and she determined to take the chance he gave her, although to talk to a man of

"It seems to me like this," she began, doing her best first to recollect and then to expose her shivering private

"There's an old widow in her room, somewhere, let us suppose in the suburbs of Leeds."

"In London you're spending your life, talking, writing things, getting bills through, missing what seems

natural. The result of it all is that she goes to her cupboard and finds a little more tea, a few lumps of sugar, or

a little less tea and a newspaper. Widows all over the country I admit do this. Still, there's the mind of the

"If the widow goes to her cupboard and finds it bare," Richard answered, "her spiritual outlook we may admit

will be affected. If I may pick holes in your philosophy, Miss Vinrace, which has its merits, I would point out

that a human being is not a set of compartments, but an organism. Imagination, Miss Vinrace; use your

imagination; that's where you young Liberals fail. Conceive the world as a whole. Now for your second

point; when you assert that in trying to set the house in order for the benefit of the young generation I am

wasting my higher capabilities, I totally disagree with you. I can conceive no more exalted aimto be the

citizen of the Empire. Look at it in this way, Miss Vinrace; conceive the state as a complicated machine; we

citizens are parts of that machine; some fulfil more important duties; others (perhaps I am one of them) serve

only to connect some obscure parts of the mechanism, concealed from the public eye. Yet if the meanest

It was impossible to combine the image of a lean black widow, gazing out of her window, and longing for

some one to talk to, with the image of a vast machine, such as one sees at South Kensington, thumping,

"Well, then; no woman has what I may call the political instinct. You have very great virtues; I am the first, I

hope, to admit that; but I have never met a woman who even saw what is meant by statesmanship. I am going

to make you still more angry. I hope that I never shall meet such a woman. Now, Miss Vinrace, are we

Vanity, irritation, and a thrusting desire to be understood, urged her to make another attempt.

"Under the streets, in the sewers, in the wires, in the telephones, there is something alive; is that what you

mean? In things like dustcarts, and men mending roads? You feel that all the time when you walk about

"Certainly," said Richard. "I understand you to mean that the whole of modern society is based upon

cooperative effort. If only more people would realise that, Miss Vinrace, there would be fewer of your old

"I call myself a Conservative for convenience sake," said Richard, smiling. "But there is more in common

There was a pause, which did not come on Rachel's side from any lack of things to say; as usual she could not

say them, and was further confused by the fact that the time for talking probably ran short. She was haunted

by absurd jumbled ideashow, if one went back far enough, everything perhaps was intelligible; everything

was in common; for the mammoths who pastured in the fields of Richmond High Street had turned into

Crude as her manners seemed to him, Richard was flattered. There could be no doubt that her interest was

"I'm flattered, I assure you. Butlet me seewhat happened? Well, riding, lessons, sisters. There was an

enchanted rubbish heap, I remember, where all kinds of queer things happened. Odd, what things impress

children! I can remember the look of the place to this day. It's a fallacy to think that children are happy.

They're not; they're unhappy. I've never suffered so much as I did when I was a child."

"I didn't get on well with my father," said Richard shortly. "He was a very able man, but hard. Wellit

makes one determined not to sin in that way oneself. Children never forget injustice. They forgive heaps of

things grownup people mind; but that sin is the unpardonable sin. Mind youI daresay I was a difficult

child to manage; but when I think what I was ready to give! No, I was more sinned against than sinning. And

then I went to school, where I did very fairly well; and and then, as I say, my father sent me to both

universities. . . . D'you know, Miss Vinrace, you've made me think? How little, after all, one can tell anybody

about one's life! Here I sit; there you sit; both, I doubt not, chockfull of the most interesting experiences,

ideas, emotions; yet how communicate? I've told you what every second person you meet might tell you."

"I don't think so," she said. "It's the way of saying things, isn't it, not the things?"

"True," said Richard. "Perfectly true." He paused. "When I look back over my lifeI'm fortytwowhat

are the great facts that stand out? What were the revelations, if I may call them so? The misery of the poor

Upon that word he lowered his voice; it was a word that seemed to unveil the skies for Rachel.

"It's an odd thing to say to a young lady," he continued. "But have you any idea whatwhat I mean by that?

No, of course not. I don't use the word in a conventional sense. I use it as young men use it. Girls are kept

"Warships, Dick! Over there! Look!" Clarissa, released from Mr. Grice, appreciative of all his seaweeds,

She had sighted two sinister grey vessels, low in the water, and bald as bone, one closely following the other

with the look of eyeless beasts seeking their prey. Consciousness returned to Richard instantly.

"The _Euphrosyne_ was slowly dipping her flag. Richard raised his hat. Convulsively Clarissa squeezed

The warships drew past, casting a curious effect of discipline and sadness upon the waters, and it was not

until they were again invisible that people spoke to each other naturally. At lunch the talk was all of valour

and death, and the magnificent qualities of British admirals. Clarissa quoted one poet, Willoughby quoted

another. Life on board a manofwar was splendid, so they agreed, and sailors, whenever one met them,

This being so, no one liked it when Helen remarked that it seemed to her as wrong to keep sailors as to keep a

Zoo, and that as for dying on a battlefield, surely it was time we ceased to praise courage"or to write bad

But Helen was really wondering why Rachel, sitting silent, looked so queer and flushed.

She was not able to follow up her observations, however, or to come to any conclusion, for by one of those

accidents which are liable to happen at sea, the whole course of their lives was now put out of order.

Even at tea the floor rose beneath their feet and pitched too low again, and at dinner the ship seemed to groan

and strain as though a lash were descending. She who had been a broadbacked drayhorse, upon whose

hindquarters pierrots might waltz, became a colt in a field. The plates slanted away from the knives, and

Mrs. Dalloway's face blanched for a second as she helped herself and saw the potatoes roll this way and that.

Willoughby, of course, extolled the virtues of his ship, and quoted what had been said of her by experts and

distinguished passengers, for he loved his own possessions. Still, dinner was uneasy, and directly the ladies

were alone Clarissa owned that she would be better off in bed, and went, smiling bravely.

Next morning the storm was on them, and no politeness could ignore it. Mrs. Dalloway stayed in her room.

Richard faced three meals, eating valiantly at each; but at the third, certain glazed asparagus swimming in oil

"Now we are alone once more," remarked William Pepper, looking round the table; but no one was ready to

On the following day they metbut as flying leaves meet in the air. Sick they were not; but the wind

propelled them hastily into rooms, violently downstairs. They passed each other gasping on deck; they

shouted across tables. They wore fur coats; and Helen was never seen without a bandanna on her head. For

comfort they retreated to their cabins, where with tightly wedged feet they let the ship bounce and tumble.

Their sensations were the sensations of potatoes in a sack on a galloping horse. The world outside was merely

a violent grey tumult. For two days they had a perfect rest from their old emotions. Rachel had just enough

consciousness to suppose herself a donkey on the summit of a moor in a hailstorm, with its coat blown into

furrows; then she became a wizened tree, perpetually driven back by the salt Atlantic gale.

Helen, on the other hand, staggered to Mrs. Dalloway's door, knocked, could not be heard for the slamming

There were basins, of course. Mrs. Dalloway lay halfraised on a pillow, and did not open her eyes. Then she

Clarissa opened one eye. It gave her an incredibly dissipated appearance. "Awful!" she gasped. Her lips were

Planting her feet wide, Helen contrived to pour champagne into a tumbler with a toothbrush in it.

"There's a toothbrush in it," murmured Clarissa, and smiled; it might have been the contortion of one

"Disgusting," she whispered, indicating the basins. Relics of humour still played over her face like

"Want more?" Helen shouted. Speech was again beyond Clarissa's reach. The wind laid the ship shivering on

her side. Pale agonies crossed Mrs. Dalloway in waves. When the curtains flapped, grey lights puffed across

her. Between the spasms of the storm, Helen made the curtain fast, shook the pillows, stretched the

She was trying to apologise for white underclothes fallen and scattered on the floor. For one second she

Helen left her; far, far away she knew that she felt a kind of liking for Mrs. Dalloway. She could not help

respecting her spirit and her desire, even in the throes of sickness, for a tidy bedroom. Her petticoats,

Quite suddenly the storm relaxed its grasp. It happened at tea; the expected paroxysm of the blast gave out

just as it reached its climax and dwindled away, and the ship instead of taking the usual plunge went steadily.

The monotonous order of plunging and rising, roaring and relaxing, was interfered with, and every one at

table looked up and felt something loosen within them. The strain was slackened and human feelings began

"Foolish!" cried Helen, but they went stumbling up the ladder. Choked by the wind their spirits rose with a

rush, for on the skirts of all the grey tumult was a misty spot of gold. Instantly the world dropped into shape;

they were no longer atoms flying in the void, but people riding a triumphant ship on the back of the sea.

Wind and space were banished; the world floated like an apple in a tub, and the mind of man, which had been

Having scrambled twice round the ship and received many sound cuffs from the wind, they saw a sailor's face

positively shine golden. They looked, and beheld a complete yellow circle of sun; next minute it was

traversed by sailing stands of cloud, and then completely hidden. By breakfast the next morning, however,

the sky was swept clean, the waves, although steep, were blue, and after their view of the strange

underworld, inhabited by phantoms, people began to live among teapots and loaves of bread with greater

Richard and Clarissa, however, still remained on the borderland. She did not attempt to sit up; her husband

stood on his feet, contemplated his waistcoat and trousers, shook his head, and then lay down again. The

inside of his brain was still rising and falling like the sea on the stage. At four o'clock he woke from sleep and

saw the sunlight make a vivid angle across the red plush curtains and the grey tweed trousers. The ordinary

world outside slid into his mind, and by the time he was dressed he was an English gentleman again.

He stood beside his wife. She pulled him down to her by the lapel of his coat, kissed him, and held him fast

"Go and get a breath of air, Dick," she said. "You look quite washed out. . . . How nice you smell! . . . And be

Thereupon Mrs. Dalloway turned to the cool side of her pillow, terribly flattened but still invincible.

Richard found Helen talking to her brotherinlaw, over two dishes of yellow cake and smooth bread and

"I hear you've been very good to my wife," he said. "She's had an awful time of it. You came in and fed her

"There are three stages of convalescence, I always say," broke in the hearty voice of Willoughby. "The milk

stage, the breadandbutter stage, and the roastbeef stage. I should say you were at the breadandbutter

"Now, I should advise a hearty tea, then a brisk walk on deck; and by dinnertime you'll be clamouring for

"This is a great undertaking of his," Richard continued. "It's a business that won't stop with ships, I should

say. We shall see him in Parliament, or I'm much mistaken. He's the kind of man we want in Parliamentthe

"Well, it is," said Richard. "It's humiliating to find what a slave one is to one's body in this world. D'you

know, I can never work without a kettle on the hob. As often as not I don't drink tea, but I must feel that I can

"It shortens one's life; but I'm afraid, Mrs. Ambrose, we politicians must make up our minds to that at the

"We can't make you take us seriously, Mrs. Ambrose," he protested. "May I ask how you've spent your time?

Readingphilosophy?" (He saw the black book.) "Metaphysics and fishing!" he exclaimed. "If I had to live

again I believe I should devote myself to one or the other." He began turning the pages.

"'Good, then, is indefinable,'" he read out. "How jolly to think that's going on still! 'So far as I know there is

only one ethical writer, Professor Henry Sidgwick, who has clearly recognised and stated this fact.' That's just

the kind of thing we used to talk about when we were boys. I can remember arguing until five in the morning

with Duffynow Secretary for Indiapacing round and round those cloisters until we decided it was too

late to go to bed, and we went for a ride instead. Whether we ever came to any conclusion that's another

matter. Still, it's the arguing that counts. It's things like that that stand out in life. Nothing's been quite so

vivid since. It's the philosophers, it's the scholars," he continued, "they're the people who pass the torch, who

keep the light burning by which we live. Being a politician doesn't necessarily blind one to that, Mrs.

"No. Why should it?" said Helen. "But can you remember if your wife takes sugar?"

Richard twisted a muffler twice round his throat and struggled up on deck. His body, which had grown white

and tender in a dark room, tingled all over in the fresh air. He felt himself a man undoubtedly in the prime of

life. Pride glowed in his eye as he let the wind buffet him and stood firm. With his head slightly lowered he

sheered round corners, strode uphill, and met the blast. There was a collision. For a second he could not see

what the body was he had run into. "Sorry." "Sorry." It was Rachel who apologised. They both laughed, too

much blown about to speak. She drove open the door of her room and stepped into its calm. In order to speak

to her, it was necessary that Richard should follow. They stood in a whirlpool of wind; papers began flying

round in circles, the door crashed to, and they tumbled, laughing, into chairs. Richard sat upon Bach.

"Fine, isn't it?" said Rachel. Certainly the struggle and wind had given her a decision she lacked; red was in

"Oh, what fun!" he cried. "What am I sitting on? Is this your room? How jolly!" "Theresit there," she

"How jolly to meet again," said Richard. "It seems an age. _Cowper's_ _Letters>? . . . Bach? . . .

_Wuthering_ _Heights_? . . . Is this where you meditate on the world, and then come out and pose poor

politicians with questions? In the intervals of seasickness I've thought a lot of our talk. I assure you, you

"What solitary icebergs we are, Miss Vinrace! How little we can communicate! There are lots of things I

should like to tell you aboutto hear your opinion of. Have you ever read Burke?"

"No? Well, then I shall make a point of sending you a copy. _The_ _Speech_ _on_ _the_ _French_

_Revolution__The_ _American_ _Rebellion_? Which shall it be, I wonder?" He noted something in his

pocketbook. "And then you must write and tell me what you think of it. This reticencethis

isolationthat's what's the matter with modern life! Now, tell me about yourself. What are your interests and

occupations? I should imagine that you were a person with very strong interests. Of course you are! Good

God! When I think of the age we live in, with its opportunities and possibilities, the mass of things to be done

"I knowI know," said Richard, throwing his head back, and drawing his fingers across his eyes.

"How strange to be a woman! A young and beautiful woman," he continued sententiously, "has the whole

world at her feet. That's true, Miss Vinrace. You have an inestimable powerfor good or for evil. What

"You have beauty," he said. The ship lurched. Rachel fell slightly forward. Richard took her in his arms and

kissed her. Holding her tight, he kissed her passionately, so that she felt the hardness of his body and the

roughness of his cheek printed upon hers. She fell back in her chair, with tremendous beats of the heart, each

of which sent black waves across her eyes. He clasped his forehead in his hands.

"You tempt me," he said. The tone of his voice was terrifying. He seemed choked in fright. They were both

trembling. Rachel stood up and went. Her head was cold, her knees shaking, and the physical pain of the

emotion was so great that she could only keep herself moving above the great leaps of her heart. She leant

upon the rail of the ship, and gradually ceased to feel, for a chill of body and mind crept over her. Far out

between the waves little black and white seabirds were riding. Rising and falling with smooth and graceful

movements in the hollows of the waves they seemed singularly detached and unconcerned.

"You're peaceful," she said. She became peaceful too, at the same time possessed with a strange exultation.

Life seemed to hold infinite possibilities she had never guessed at. She leant upon the rail and looked over the

troubled grey waters, where the sunlight was fitfully scattered upon the crests of the waves, until she was cold

At dinner, however, she did not feel exalted, but merely uncomfortable, as if she and Richard had seen

something together which is hidden in ordinary life, so that they did not like to look at each other. Richard

slid his eyes over her uneasily once, and never looked at her again. Formal platitudes were manufactured with

"Beef for Mr. Dalloway!" he shouted. "Come nowafter that walk you're at the beef stage, Dalloway!"

Wonderful masculine stories followed about Bright and Disraeli and coalition governments, wonderful stories

which made the people at the dinnertable seem featureless and small. After dinner, sitting alone with Rachel

under the great swinging lamp, Helen was struck by her pallor. It once more occurred to her that there was

Helen advised bed, and she went, not seeing Richard again. She must have been very tired for she fell asleep

at once, but after an hour or two of dreamless sleep, she dreamt. She dreamt that she was walking down a

long tunnel, which grew so narrow by degrees that she could touch the damp bricks on either side. At length

the tunnel opened and became a vault; she found herself trapped in it, bricks meeting her wherever she

turned, alone with a little deformed man who squatted on the floor gibbering, with long nails. His face was

pitted and like the face of an animal. The wall behind him oozed with damp, which collected into drops and

slid down. Still and cold as death she lay, not daring to move, until she broke the agony by tossing herself

Light showed her the familiar things: her clothes, fallen off the chair; the water jug gleaming white; but the

horror did not go at once. She felt herself pursued, so that she got up and actually locked her door. A voice

moaned for her; eyes desired her. All night long barbarian men harassed the ship; they came scuffling down

"That's the tragedy of lifeas I always say!" said Mrs. Dalloway. "Beginning things and having to end them.

Still, I'm not going to let _this_ end, if you're willing." It was the morning, the sea was calm, and the ship

She was dressed in her long fur cloak, with the veils wound around her head, and once more the rich boxes

stood on top of each other so that the scene of a few days back seemed to be repeated.

"D'you suppose we shall ever meet in London?" said Ridley ironically. "You'll have forgotten all about me by

He pointed to the shore of the little bay, where they could now see the separate trees with moving branches.

"How horrid you are!" she laughed. "Rachel's coming to see me anyhow the instant you get back," she

With a silver pencil she wrote her name and address on the flyleaf of _Persuasion_, and gave the book to

Rachel. Sailors were shouldering the luggage, and people were beginning to congregate. There were Captain

Cobbold, Mr. Grice, Willoughby, Helen, and an obscure grateful man in a blue jersey.

"Oh, it's time," said Clarissa. "Well, goodbye. I _do_ like you," she murmured as she kissed Rachel. People

in the way made it unnecessary for Richard to shake Rachel by the hand; he managed to look at her very

The boat separating from the vessel made off towards the land, and for some minutes Helen, Ridley, and

Rachel leant over the rail, watching. Once Mrs. Dalloway turned and waved; but the boat steadily grew

smaller and smaller until it ceased to rise and fall, and nothing could be seen save two resolute backs.

"Well, that's over," said Ridley after a long silence. "We shall never see _them_ again," he added, turning to

go to his books. A feeling of emptiness and melancholy came over them; they knew in their hearts that it was

over, and that they had parted for ever, and the knowledge filled them with far greater depression than the

length of their acquaintance seemed to justify. Even as the boat pulled away they could feel other sights and

sounds beginning to take the place of the Dalloways, and the feeling was so unpleasant that they tried to resist

In much the same way as Mrs. Chailey downstairs was sweeping the withered roseleaves off the

dressingtable, so Helen was anxious to make things straight again after the visitors had gone. Rachel's

obvious languor and listlessness made her an easy prey, and indeed Helen had devised a kind of trap. That

something had happened she now felt pretty certain; moreover, she had come to think that they had been

strangers long enough; she wished to know what the girl was like, partly of course because Rachel showed no

"Come and talk to me instead of practising," and led the way to the sheltered side where the deckchairs were

stretched in the sun. Rachel followed her indifferently. Her mind was absorbed by Richard; by the extreme

strangeness of what had happened, and by a thousand feelings of which she had not been conscious before.

She made scarcely any attempt to listen to what Helen was saying, as Helen indulged in commonplaces to

begin with. While Mrs. Ambrose arranged her embroidery, sucked her silk, and threaded her needle, she lay

"Tell me what happened," said Helen. She had to keep her lips from twitching as she listened to Rachel's

story. It was poured out abruptly with great seriousness and no sense of humour.

"We talked about politics. He told me what he had done for the poor somewhere. I asked him all sorts of

questions. He told me about his own life. The day before yesterday, after the storm, he came in to see me. It

happened then, quite suddenly. He kissed me. I don't know why." As she spoke she grew flushed. "I was a

good deal excited," she continued. "But I didn't mind till afterwards; when" she paused, and saw the figure

From the look in her eyes it was evident she was again terrified. Helen was really at a loss what to say. From

the little she knew of Rachel's upbringing she supposed that she had been kept entirely ignorant as to the

relations of men with women. With a shyness which she felt with women and not with men she did not like to

explain simply what these are. Therefore she took the other course and belittled the whole affair.

"Oh, well," she said, "He was a silly creature, and if I were you, I'd think no more about it."

"No," said Rachel, sitting bolt upright, "I shan't do that. I shall think about it all day and all night until I find

Helen could hardly restrain herself from saying out loud what she thought of a man who brought up his

daughter so that at the age of twentyfour she scarcely knew that men desired women and was terrified by a

kiss. She had good reason to fear that Rachel had made herself incredibly ridiculous.

Helen reflected that as, from what she had said, Rachel certainly would think these things out, it might be as

"You oughtn't to be frightened," she said. "It's the most natural thing in the world. Men will want to kiss you,

just as they'll want to marry you. The pity is to get things out of proportion. It's like noticing the noises people

make when they eat, or men spitting; or, in short, any small thing that gets on one's nerves."

"It _is_ terrifyingit _is_ disgusting," Rachel asserted, as if she included Helen in the hatred.

"I did like him," Rachel mused, as if speaking to herself. "I wanted to talk to him; I wanted to know what he'd

It seemed to her as she recalled their talk that there was something lovable about Richard, good in their

"You see," she said, "you must take things as they are; and if you want friendship with men you must run

risks. Personally," she continued, breaking into a smile, "I think it's worth it; I don't mind being kissed; I'm

rather jealous, I believe, that Mr. Dalloway kissed you and didn't kiss me. Though," she added, "he bored me

But Rachel did not return the smile or dismiss the whole affair, as Helen meant her to. Her mind was working

very quickly, inconsistently and painfully. Helen's words hewed down great blocks which had stood there

always, and the light which came in was cold. After sitting for a time with fixed eyes, she burst out:

By this new light she saw her life for the first time a creeping hedgedin thing, driven cautiously between

high walls, here turned aside, there plunged in darkness, made dull and crippled for everher life that was

"I liked him, and I liked being kissed," she answered, as if that only added more difficulties to her problem.

Helen was surprised to see how genuine both shock and problem were, but she could think of no way of

easing the difficulty except by going on talking. She wanted to make her niece talk, and so to understand why

this rather dull, kindly, plausible politician had made so deep an impression on her, for surely at the age of

As she spoke she saw Rachel redden; for she remembered silly things she had said, and also, it occurred to

her that she treated this exquisite woman rather badly, for Mrs. Dalloway had said that she loved her husband.

"She was quite nice, but a thimblepated creature," Helen continued. "I never heard such nonsense!

Chitterchatterchitterchatter fish and the Greek alphabetnever listened to a word any one said

chockfull of idiotic theories about the way to bring up children I'd far rather talk to him any day. He was

The glamour insensibly faded a little both from Richard and Clarissa. They had not been so wonderful after

"It's very difficult to know what people are like," Rachel remarked, and Helen saw with pleasure that she

There was little doubt about that according to Helen, but she restrained herself and said aloud:

"And they _were_ nice," said Rachel. "They were extraordinarily interesting." She tried to recall the image of

the world as a live thing that Richard had given her, with drains like nerves, and bad houses like patches of

diseased skin. She recalled his watchwordsUnityImagination, and saw again the bubbles meeting in

her teacup as he spoke of sisters and canaries, boyhood and his father, her small world becoming

"But all people don't seem to you equally interesting, do they?" asked Mrs. Ambrose.

Rachel explained that most people had hitherto been symbols; but that when they talked to one they ceased to

be symbols, and became"I could listen to them for ever!" she exclaimed. She then jumped up, disappeared

"_Who's_ _Who_," she said, laying it upon Helen's knee and turning the pages. "It gives short lives of

peoplefor instance: 'Sir Roland Beal; born 1852; parents from Moffatt; educated at Rugby; passed first into

R.E.; married 1878 the daughter of T. Fishwick; served in the Bechuanaland Expedition 188485

(honourably mentioned). Clubs: United Service, Naval and Military. Recreations: an enthusiastic curler.'"

Sitting on the deck at Helen's feet she went on turning the pages and reading biographies of bankers, writers,

clergymen, sailors, surgeons, judges, professors, statesmen, editors, philanthropists, merchants, and actresses;

what clubs they belonged to, where they lived, what games they played, and how many acres they owned.

Helen meanwhile stitched at her embroidery and thought over the things they had said. Her conclusion was

that she would very much like to show her niece, if it were possible, how to live, or as she put it, how to be a

reasonable person. She thought that there must be something wrong in this confusion between politics and

"I quite agree," she said, "that people are very interesting; only" Rachel, putting her finger between the

"Only I think you ought to discriminate," she ended. "It's a pity to be intimate with people who arewell,

"I really can't tell you," replied Helen candidly, after a moment's thought. "You'll have to find out for

yourself. But try and Why don't you call me Helen?" she added. "'Aunt's' a horrid name. I never liked my

Rachel reviewed the points which Helen had certainly failed to understand; they arose chiefly from the

difference of nearly twenty years in age between them, which made Mrs. Ambrose appear too humorous and

"Of course," Helen agreed. "So now you can go ahead and be a person on your own account," she added.

The vision of her own personality, of herself as a real everlasting thing, different from anything else,

unmergeable, like the sea or the wind, flashed into Rachel's mind, and she became profoundly excited at the

"I can by mmmyself," she stammered, "in spite of you, in spite of the Dalloways, and Mr. Pepper, and

Father, and my Aunts, in spite of these?" She swept her hand across a whole page of statesmen and soldiers.

"In spite of them all," said Helen gravely. She then put down her needle, and explained a plan which had

come into her head as they talked. Instead of wandering on down the Amazons until she reached some

sulphurous tropical port, where one had to lie within doors all day beating off insects with a fan, the sensible

thing to do surely was to spend the season with them in their villa by the seaside, where among other

"After all, Rachel," she broke off, "it's silly to pretend that because there's twenty years' difference between

That fact, together with other facts, had been made clear by their twenty minutes' talk, although how they had

However they were come by, they were sufficiently serious to send Mrs. Ambrose a day or two later in search

of her brotherinlaw. She found him sitting in his room working, applying a stout blue pencil authoritatively

to bundles of filmy paper. Papers lay to left and to right of him, there were great envelopes so gorged with

papers that they spilt papers on to the table. Above him hung a photograph of a woman's head. The need of

sitting absolutely still before a Cockney photographer had given her lips a queer little pucker, and her eyes for

the same reason looked as though she thought the whole situation ridiculous. Nevertheless it was the head of

an individual and interesting woman, who would no doubt have turned and laughed at Willoughby if she

could have caught his eye; but when he looked up at her he sighed profoundly. In his mind this work of his,

the great factories at Hull which showed like mountains at night, the ships that crossed the ocean punctually,

the schemes for combining this and that and building up a solid mass of industry, was all an offering to her;

he laid his success at her feet; and was always thinking how to educate his daughter so that Theresa might be

glad. He was a very ambitious man; and although he had not been particularly kind to her while she lived, as

Helen thought, he now believed that she watched him from Heaven, and inspired what was good in him.

Mrs. Ambrose apologised for the interruption, and asked whether she might speak to him about a plan of

hers. Would he consent to leave his daughter with them when they landed, instead of taking her on up the

"She's a good girl," he said at length. "There is a likeness?" he nodded his head at the photograph of

Theresa and sighed. Helen looked at Theresa pursing up her lips before the Cockney photographer. It

suggested her in an absurd human way, and she felt an intense desire to share some joke.

"She's the only thing that's left to me," sighed Willoughby. "We go on year after year without talking about

Helen was sorry for him, and patted him on the shoulder, but she felt uncomfortable when her

brotherinlaw expressed his feelings, and took refuge in praising Rachel, and explaining why she thought

"True," said Willoughby when she had done. "The social conditions are bound to be primitive. I should be

out a good deal. I agreed because she wished it. And of course I have complete confidence in you. . . . You

see, Helen," he continued, becoming confidential, "I want to bring her up as her mother would have wished. I

don't hold with these modern viewsany more than you do, eh? She's a nice quiet girl, devoted to her

musica little less of _that_ would do no harm. Still, it's kept her happy, and we lead a very quiet life at

Richmond. I should like her to begin to see more people. I want to take her about with me when I get home.

I've half a mind to rent a house in London, leaving my sisters at Richmond, and take her to see one or two

people who'd be kind to her for my sake. I'm beginning to realise," he continued, stretching himself out, "that

all this is tending to Parliament, Helen. It's the only way to get things done as one wants them done. I talked

to Dalloway about it. In that case, of course, I should want Rachel to be able to take more part in things. A

certain amount of entertaining would be necessarydinners, an occasional evening party. One's constituents

like to be fed, I believe. In all these ways Rachel could be of great help to me. So," he wound up, "I should be

very glad, if we arrange this visit (which must be upon a business footing, mind), if you could see your way

to helping my girl, bringing her out she's a little shy now,making a woman of her, the kind of woman

her mother would have liked her to be," he ended, jerking his head at the photograph.

Willoughby's selfishness, though consistent as Helen saw with real affection for his daughter, made her

determined to have the girl to stay with her, even if she had to promise a complete course of instruction in the

feminine graces. She could not help laughing at the notion of itRachel a Tory hostess!and marvelling as

Rachel, when consulted, showed less enthusiasm than Helen could have wished. One moment she was eager,

the next doubtful. Visions of a great river, now blue, now yellow in the tropical sun and crossed by bright

birds, now white in the moon, now deep in shade with moving trees and canoes sliding out from the tangled

banks, beset her. Helen promised a river. Then she did not want to leave her father. That feeling seemed

genuine too, but in the end Helen prevailed, although when she had won her case she was beset by doubts,

and more than once regretted the impulse which had entangled her with the fortunes of another human being.

From a distance the _Euphrosyne_ looked very small. Glasses were turned upon her from the decks of great

liners, and she was pronounced a tramp, a cargoboat, or one of those wretched little passenger steamers

where people rolled about among the cattle on deck. The insectlike figures of Dalloways, Ambroses, and

Vinraces were also derided, both from the extreme smallness of their persons and the doubt which only

strong glasses could dispel as to whether they were really live creatures or only lumps on the rigging. Mr.

Pepper with all his learning had been mistaken for a cormorant, and then, as unjustly, transformed into a cow.

At night, indeed, when the waltzes were swinging in the saloon, and gifted passengers reciting, the little

shipshrunk to a few beads of light out among the dark waves, and one high in air upon the masthead

seemed something mysterious and impressive to heated partners resting from the dance. She became a ship

passing in the night an emblem of the loneliness of human life, an occasion for queer confidences and

On and on she went, by day and by night, following her path, until one morning broke and showed the land.

Losing its shadowlike appearance it became first cleft and mountainous, next coloured grey and purple, next

scattered with white blocks which gradually separated themselves, and then, as the progress of the ship acted

upon the view like a fieldglass of increasing power, became streets of houses. By nine o'clock the

_Euphrosyne_ had taken up her position in the middle of a great bay; she dropped her anchor; immediately,

as if she were a recumbent giant requiring examination, small boats came swarming about her. She rang with

cries; men jumped on to her; her deck was thumped by feet. The lonely little island was invaded from all

quarters at once, and after four weeks of silence it was bewildering to hear human speech. Mrs. Ambrose

alone heeded none of this stir. She was pale with suspense while the boat with mail bags was making towards

them. Absorbed in her letters she did not notice that she had left the _Euphrosyne_, and felt no sadness when

the ship lifted up her voice and bellowed thrice like a cow separated from its calf.

"The children are well!" she exclaimed. Mr. Pepper, who sat opposite with a great mound of bag and rug

upon his knees, said, "Gratifying." Rachel, to whom the end of the voyage meant a complete change of

perspective, was too much bewildered by the approach of the shore to realise what children were well or why

Moving very slowly, and rearing absurdly high over each wave, the little boat was now approaching a white

crescent of sand. Behind this was a deep green valley, with distinct hills on either side. On the slope of the

righthand hill white houses with brown roofs were settled, like nesting seabirds, and at intervals cypresses

striped the hill with black bars. Mountains whose sides were flushed with red, but whose crowns were bald,

rose as a pinnacle, halfconcealing another pinnacle behind it. The hour being still early, the whole view was

exquisitely light and airy; the blues and greens of sky and tree were intense but not sultry. As they drew

nearer and could distinguish details, the effect of the earth with its minute objects and colours and different

forms of life was overwhelming after four weeks of the sea, and kept them silent.

As nobody said, "What?" he merely extracted a bottle and swallowed a pill. The piece of information that

died within him was to the effect that three hundred years ago five Elizabethan barques had anchored where

the _Euphrosyne_ now floated. Halfdrawn up upon the beach lay an equal number of Spanish galleons,

unmanned, for the country was still a virgin land behind a veil. Slipping across the water, the English sailors

bore away bars of silver, bales of linen, timbers of cedar wood, golden crucifixes knobbed with emeralds.

When the Spaniards came down from their drinking, a fight ensued, the two parties churning up the sand, and

driving each other into the surf. The Spaniards, bloated with fine living upon the fruits of the miraculous

land, fell in heaps; but the hardy Englishmen, tawny with seavoyaging, hairy for lack of razors, with

muscles like wire, fangs greedy for flesh, and fingers itching for gold, despatched the wounded, drove the

dying into the sea, and soon reduced the natives to a state of superstitious wonderment. Here a settlement was

made; women were imported; children grew. All seemed to favour the expansion of the British Empire, and

had there been men like Richard Dalloway in the time of Charles the First, the map would undoubtedly be red

where it is now an odious green. But it must be supposed that the political mind of that age lacked

imagination, and, merely for want of a few thousand pounds and a few thousand men, the spark died that

should have been a conflagration. From the interior came Indians with subtle poisons, naked bodies, and

painted idols; from the sea came vengeful Spaniards and rapacious Portuguese; exposed to all these enemies

(though the climate proved wonderfully kind and the earth abundant) the English dwindled away and all but

disappeared. Somewhere about the middle of the seventeenth century a single sloop watched its season and

slipped out by night, bearing within it all that was left of the great British colony, a few men, a few women,

and perhaps a dozen dusky children. English history then denies all knowledge of the place. Owing to one

cause and another civilisation shifted its centre to a spot some four or five hundred miles to the south, and

today Santa Marina is not much larger than it was three hundred years ago. In population it is a happy

compromise, for Portuguese fathers wed Indian mothers, and their children intermarry with the Spanish.

Although they get their ploughs from Manchester, they make their coats from their own sheep, their silk from

their own worms, and their furniture from their own cedar trees, so that in arts and industries the place is still

The reasons which had drawn the English across the sea to found a small colony within the last ten years are

not so easily described, and will never perhaps be recorded in history books. Granted facility of travel, peace,

good trade, and so on, there was besides a kind of dissatisfaction among the English with the older countries

and the enormous accumulations of carved stone, stained glass, and rich brown painting which they offered to

the tourist. The movement in search of something new was of course infinitely small, affecting only a handful

of welltodo people. It began by a few schoolmasters serving their passage out to South America as the

pursers of tramp steamers. They returned in time for the summer term, when their stories of the splendours

and hardships of life at sea, the humours of seacaptains, the wonders of night and dawn, and the marvels of

the place delighted outsiders, and sometimes found their way into print. The country itself taxed all their

powers of description, for they said it was much bigger than Italy, and really nobler than Greece. Again, they

declared that the natives were strangely beautiful, very big in stature, dark, passionate, and quick to seize the

knife. The place seemed new and full of new forms of beauty, in proof of which they showed handkerchiefs

which the women had worn round their heads, and primitive carvings coloured bright greens and blues.

Somehow or other, as fashions do, the fashion spread; an old monastery was quickly turned into a hotel,

while a famous line of steamships altered its route for the convenience of passengers.

Oddly enough it happened that the least satisfactory of Helen Ambrose's brothers had been sent out years

before to make his fortune, at any rate to keep clear of racehorses, in the very spot which had now become

so popular. Often, leaning upon the column in the verandah, he had watched the English ships with English

schoolmasters for pursers steaming into the bay. Having at length earned enough to take a holiday, and being

sick of the place, he proposed to put his villa, on the slope of the mountain, at his sister's disposal. She, too,

had been a little stirred by the talk of a new world, where there was always sun and never a fog, which went

on around her, and the chance, when they were planning where to spend the winter out of England, seemed

too good to be missed. For these reasons she determined to accept Willoughby's offer of free passages on his

ship, to place the children with their grandparents, and to do the thing thoroughly while she was about it.

Taking seats in a carriage drawn by longtailed horses with pheasants' feathers erect between their ears, the

Ambroses, Mr. Pepper, and Rachel rattled out of the harbour. The day increased in heat as they drove up the

hill. The road passed through the town, where men seemed to be beating brass and crying "Water," where the

passage was blocked by mules and cleared by whips and curses, where the women walked barefoot, their

heads balancing baskets, and cripples hastily displayed mutilated members; it issued among steep green

fields, not so green but that the earth showed through. Great trees now shaded all but the centre of the road,

and a mountain stream, so shallow and so swift that it plaited itself into strands as it ran, raced along the edge.

Higher they went, until Ridley and Rachel walked behind; next they turned along a lane scattered with stones,

where Mr. Pepper raised his stick and silently indicated a shrub, bearing among sparse leaves a voluminous

purple blossom; and at a rickety canter the last stage of the way was accomplished.

The villa was a roomy white house, which, as is the case with most continental houses, looked to an English

eye frail, ramshackle, and absurdly frivolous, more like a pagoda in a teagarden than a place where one

slept. The garden called urgently for the services of gardener. Bushes waved their branches across the paths,

and the blades of grass, with spaces of earth between them, could be counted. In the circular piece of ground

in front of the verandah were two cracked vases, from which red flowers drooped, with a stone fountain

between them, now parched in the sun. The circular garden led to a long garden, where the gardener's shears

had scarcely been, unless now and then, when he cut a bough of blossom for his beloved. A few tall trees

shaded it, and round bushes with waxlike flowers mobbed their heads together in a row. A garden smoothly

laid with turf, divided by thick hedges, with raised beds of bright flowers, such as we keep within walls in

England, would have been out of place upon the side of this bare hill. There was no ugliness to shut out, and

the villa looked straight across the shoulder of a slope, ribbed with olive trees, to the sea.

The indecency of the whole place struck Mrs. Chailey forcibly. There were no blinds to shut out the sun, nor

was there any furniture to speak of for the sun to spoil. Standing in the bare stone hall, and surveying a

staircase of superb breadth, but cracked and carpetless, she further ventured the opinion that there were rats,

as large as terriers at home, and that if one put one's foot down with any force one would come through the

"Poor creature!" she murmured to the sallow Spanish servantgirl who came out with the pigs and hens to

receive them, "no wonder you hardly look like a human being!" Maria accepted the compliment with an

exquisite Spanish grace. In Chailey's opinion they would have done better to stay on board an English ship,

When they were settled in, and in train to find daily occupation, there was some speculation as to the reasons

which induced Mr. Pepper to stay, taking up his lodging in the Ambroses' house. Efforts had been made for

"That great stream!" Helen would begin, gazing as if she saw a visionary cascade, "I've a good mind to go

with you myself, Willoughbyonly I can't. Think of the sunsets and the moonrises I believe the colours

The effect of these subterfuges was a little dashed by Ridley, who, after regarding Pepper for some moments,

sighed aloud, "Poor fellow!" and inwardly speculated upon the unkindness of women.

He stayed, however, in apparent contentment for six days, playing with a microscope and a notebook in one

of the many sparsely furnished sittingrooms, but on the evening of the seventh day, as they sat at dinner, he

appeared more restless than usual. The dinnertable was set between two long windows which were left

uncurtained by Helen's orders. Darkness fell as sharply as a knife in this climate, and the town then sprang

out in circles and lines of bright dots beneath them. Buildings which never showed by day showed by night,

and the sea flowed right over the land judging by the moving lights of the steamers. The sight fulfilled the

same purpose as an orchestra in a London restaurant, and silence had its setting. William Pepper observed it

"I've identified the big block to the left," he observed, and pointed with his fork at a square formed by several

Nothing more was said then, but, the day after, Mr. Pepper returned from a midday walk, and stood silently

Knowing his dislike of questions, which she to some extent shared, Helen asked no more. Still, an uneasy

suspicion lurked in her mind that William was hiding a wound. She flushed to think that her words, or her

husband's, or Rachel's had penetrated and stung. She was halfmoved to cry, "Stop, William; explain!" and

would have returned to the subject at luncheon if William had not shown himself inscrutable and chill, lifting

fragments of salad on the point of his fork, with the gesture of a man pronging seaweed, detecting gravel,

She reflected that she had never yet asked him whether he had been in love. They had got further and further

from that subject instead of drawing nearer to it, and she could not help feeling it a relief when William

Pepper, with all his knowledge, his microscope, his notebooks, his genuine kindliness and good sense, but a

certain dryness of soul, took his departure. Also she could not help feeling it sad that friendships should end

thus, although in this case to have the room empty was something of a comfort, and she tried to console

herself with the reflection that one never knows how far other people feel the things they might be supposed

The next few months passed away, as many years can pass away, without definite events, and yet, if suddenly

disturbed, it would be seen that such months or years had a character unlike others. The three months which

had passed had brought them to the beginning of March. The climate had kept its promise, and the change of

season from winter to spring had made very little difference, so that Helen, who was sitting in the

drawingroom with a pen in her hand, could keep the windows open though a great fire of logs burnt on one

side of her. Below, the sea was still blue and the roofs still brown and white, though the day was fading

rapidly. It was dusk in the room, which, large and empty at all times, now appeared larger and emptier than

usual. Her own figure, as she sat writing with a pad on her knee, shared the general effect of size and lack of

detail, for the flames which ran along the branches, suddenly devouring little green tufts, burnt intermittently

and sent irregular illuminations across her face and the plaster walls. There were no pictures on the walls but

here and there boughs laden with heavypetalled flowers spread widely against them. Of the books fallen on

the bare floor and heaped upon the large table, it was only possible in this light to trace the outline.

Mrs. Ambrose was writing a very long letter. Beginning "Dear Bernard," it went on to describe what had

been happening in the Villa San Gervasio during the past three months, as, for instance, that they had had the

British Consul to dinner, and had been taken over a Spanish manofwar, and had seen a great many

processions and religious festivals, which were so beautiful that Mrs. Ambrose couldn't conceive why, if

people must have a religion, they didn't all become Roman Catholics. They had made several expeditions

though none of any length. It was worth coming if only for the sake of the flowering trees which grew wild

quite near the house, and the amazing colours of sea and earth. The earth, instead of being brown, was red,

purple, green. "You won't believe me," she added, "there is no colour like it in England." She adopted,

indeed, a condescending tone towards that poor island, which was now advancing chilly crocuses and nipped

violets in nooks, in copses, in cosy corners, tended by rosy old gardeners in mufflers, who were always

touching their hats and bobbing obsequiously. She went on to deride the islanders themselves. Rumours of

London all in a ferment over a General Election had reached them even out here. "It seems incredible," she

went on, "that people should care whether Asquith is in or Austen Chamberlin out, and while you scream

yourselves hoarse about politics you let the only people who are trying for something good starve or simply

laugh at them. When have you ever encouraged a living artist? Or bought his best work? Why are you all so

ugly and so servile? Here the servants are human beings. They talk to one as if they were equals. As far as I

Perhaps it was the mention of aristocrats that reminded her of Richard Dalloway and Rachel, for she ran on

"It's an odd fate that has put me in charge of a girl," she wrote, "considering that I have never got on well

with women, or had much to do with them. However, I must retract some of the things that I have said

against them. If they were properly educated I don't see why they shouldn't be much the same as menas

satisfactory I mean; though, of course, very different. The question is, how should one educate them. The

present method seems to me abominable. This girl, though twentyfour, had never heard that men desired

women, and, until I explained it, did not know how children were born. Her ignorance upon other matters as

important" (here Mrs. Ambrose's letter may not be quoted) . . ."was complete. It seems to me not merely

foolish but criminal to bring people up like that. Let alone the suffering to them, it explains why women are

what they are the wonder is they're no worse. I have taken it upon myself to enlighten her, and now,

though still a good deal prejudiced and liable to exaggerate, she is more or less a reasonable human being.

Keeping them ignorant, of course, defeats its own object, and when they begin to understand they take it all

much too seriously. My brotherinlaw really deserved a catastrophewhich he won't get. I now pray for a

young man to come to my help; some one, I mean, who would talk to her openly, and prove how absurd most

of her ideas about life are. Unluckily such men seem almost as rare as the women. The English colony

certainly doesn't provide one; artists, merchants, cultivated peoplethey are stupid, conventional, and

flirtatious. . . ." She ceased, and with her pen in her hand sat looking into the fire, making the logs into caves

and mountains, for it had grown too dark to go on writing. Moreover, the house began to stir as the hour of

dinner approached; she could hear the plates being chinked in the diningroom next door, and Chailey

instructing the Spanish girl where to put things down in vigorous English. The bell rang; she rose, met Ridley

Three months had made but little difference in the appearance either of Ridley or Rachel; yet a keen observer

might have thought that the girl was more definite and selfconfident in her manner than before. Her skin

was brown, her eyes certainly brighter, and she attended to what was said as though she might be going to

contradict it. The meal began with the comfortable silence of people who are quite at their ease together.

Then Ridley, leaning on his elbow and looking out of the window, observed that it was a lovely night.

"Yes," said Helen. She added, "The season's begun," looking at the lights beneath them. She asked Maria in

Spanish whether the hotel was not filling up with visitors. Maria informed her with pride that there would

come a time when it was positively difficult to buy eggsthe shopkeepers would not mind what prices they

"That's an English steamer in the bay," said Rachel, looking at a triangle of lights below. "She came in early

For some reason the mention of letters always made Ridley groan, and the rest of the meal passed in a brisk

argument between husband and wife as to whether he was or was not wholly ignored by the entire civilised

"Considering the last batch," said Helen, "you deserve beating. You were asked to lecture, you were offered a

degree, and some silly woman praised not only your books but your beautyshe said he was what Shelley

would have been if Shelley had lived to fiftyfive and grown a beard. Really, Ridley, I think you're the

vainest man I know," she ended, rising from the table, "which I may tell you is saying a good deal."

Finding her letter lying before the fire she added a few lines to it, and then announced that she was going to

The women put on cloaks and hats, and after inviting Ridley to come with them, which he emphatically

refused to do, exclaiming that Rachel he expected to be a fool, but Helen surely knew better, they turned to

go. He stood over the fire gazing into the depths of the lookingglass, and compressing his face into the

likeness of a commander surveying a field of battle, or a martyr watching the flames lick his toes, rather than

"We'll leave you to your vanities," she called back as they went out of the door.

It was a beautiful evening, still light enough to see a long way down the road, though the stars were coming

out. The pillarbox was let into a high yellow wall where the lane met the road, and having dropped the

"No, no," said Rachel, taking her by the wrist. "We're going to see life. You promised."

"Seeing life" was the phrase they used for their habit of strolling through the town after dark. The social life

of Santa Marina was carried on almost entirely by lamplight, which the warmth of the nights and the scents

culled from flowers made pleasant enough. The young women, with their hair magnificently swept in coils, a

red flower behind the ear, sat on the doorsteps, or issued out on to balconies, while the young men ranged up

and down beneath, shouting up a greeting from time to time and stopping here and there to enter into

amorous talk. At the open windows merchants could be seen making up the day's account, and older women

lifting jars from shelf to shelf. The streets were full of people, men for the most part, who interchanged their

views of the world as they walked, or gathered round the winetables at the street corner, where an old

cripple was twanging his guitar strings, while a poor girl cried her passionate song in the gutter. The two

Helen sauntered on, observing the different people in their shabby clothes, who seemed so careless and so

"Just think of the Mall tonight!" she exclaimed at length. "It's the fifteenth of March. Perhaps there's a

Court." She thought of the crowd waiting in the cold spring air to see the grand carriages go by. "It's very

cold, if it's not raining," she said. "First there are men selling picture postcards; then there are wretched little

shopgirls with round bandboxes; then there are bank clerks in tail coats; and thenany number of

dressmakers. People from South Kensington drive up in a hired fly; officials have a pair of bays; earls, on the

other hand, are allowed one footman to stand up behind; dukes have two, royal dukesso I was told have

three; the king, I suppose, can have as many as he likes. And the people believe in it!"

Out here it seemed as though the people of England must be shaped in the body like the kings and queens,

knights and pawns of the chessboard, so strange were their differences, so marked and so implicitly believed

"They believe in God," said Rachel as they regained each other. She meant that the people in the crowd

believed in Him; for she remembered the crosses with bleeding plaster figures that stood where footpaths

They had walked some way and it was now night, but they could see a large iron gate a little way farther

Rachel gave the gate a push; it swung open, and, seeing no one about and judging that nothing was private in

this country, they walked straight on. An avenue of trees ran along the road, which was completely straight.

The trees suddenly came to an end; the road turned a corner, and they found themselves confronted by a large

square building. They had come out upon the broad terrace which ran round the hotel and were only a few

feet distant from the windows. A row of long windows opened almost to the ground. They were all of them

uncurtained, and all brilliantly lighted, so that they could see everything inside. Each window revealed a

different section of the life of the hotel. They drew into one of the broad columns of shadow which separated

the windows and gazed in. They found themselves just outside the diningroom. It was being swept; a waiter

was eating a bunch of grapes with his leg across the corner of a table. Next door was the kitchen, where they

were washing up; white cooks were dipping their arms into cauldrons, while the waiters made their meal

voraciously off broken meats, sopping up the gravy with bits of crumb. Moving on, they became lost in a

plantation of bushes, and then suddenly found themselves outside the drawingroom, where the ladies and

gentlemen, having dined well, lay back in deep armchairs, occasionally speaking or turning over the pages

"What is a dahabeeyah, Charles?" the distinct voice of a widow, seated in an armchair by the window, asked

It was the end of the piece, and his answer was lost in the general clearing of throats and tapping of knees.

Creeping on, they found that the next window revealed two men in shirtsleeves playing billiards with two

"Now you twono ragging," the young man with the red face reproved them, who was marking.

"Take care or we shall be seen," whispered Helen, plucking Rachel by the arm. Incautiously her head had

Turning the corner they came to the largest room in the hotel, which was supplied with four windows, and

was called the Lounge, although it was really a hall. Hung with armour and native embroideries, furnished

with divans and screens, which shut off convenient corners, the room was less formal than the others, and

was evidently the haunt of youth. Signor Rodriguez, whom they knew to be the manager of the hotel, stood

quite near them in the doorway surveying the scenethe gentlemen lounging in chairs, the couples leaning

over coffeecups, the game of cards in the centre under profuse clusters of electric light. He was

congratulating himself upon the enterprise which had turned the refectory, a cold stone room with pots on

trestles, into the most comfortable room in the house. The hotel was very full, and proved his wisdom in

The people were scattered about in couples or parties of four, and either they were actually better acquainted,

or the informal room made their manners easier. Through the open window came an uneven humming sound

like that which rises from a flock of sheep pent within hurdles at dusk. The cardparty occupied the centre of

Helen and Rachel watched them play for some minutes without being able to distinguish a word. Helen was

observing one of the men intently. He was a lean, somewhat cadaverous man of about her own age, whose

profile was turned to them, and he was the partner of a highlycoloured girl, obviously English by birth.

Suddenly, in the strange way in which some words detach themselves from the rest, they heard him say quite

"All you want is practice, Miss Warrington; courage and practice one's no good without the other."

"Hughling Elliot! Of course!" Helen exclaimed. She ducked her head immediately, for at the sound of his

name he looked up. The game went on for a few minutes, and was then broken up by the approach of a

wheeled chair, containing a voluminous old lady who paused by the table and said:

"All the luck's on our side," said a young man who until now had kept his back turned to the window. He

"Luck, Mr. Hewet?" said his partner, a middleaged lady with spectacles. "I assure you, Mrs. Paley, our

"Unless I go to bed early I get practically no sleep at all," Mrs. Paley was heard to explain, as if to justify her

"They'll get some one else to take my place," she said cheerfully. But she was wrong. No attempt was made

to find another player, and after the young man had built three stories of a cardhouse, which fell down, the

Mr. Hewet turned his full face towards the window. They could see that he had large eyes obscured by

glasses; his complexion was rosy, his lips cleanshaven; and, seen among ordinary people, it appeared to be

an interesting face. He came straight towards them, but his eyes were fixed not upon the eavesdroppers but

Helen and Rachel started to think that some one had been sitting near to them unobserved all the time. There

A scuffling was heard on the gravel. The women had fled. They did not stop running until they felt certain

that no eye could penetrate the darkness and the hotel was only a square shadow in the distance, with red

An hour passed, and the downstairs rooms at the hotel grew dim and were almost deserted, while the little

boxlike squares above them were brilliantly irradiated. Some forty or fifty people were going to bed. The

thump of jugs set down on the floor above could be heard and the clink of china, for there was not as thick a

partition between the rooms as one might wish, so Miss Allan, the elderly lady who had been playing bridge,

determined, giving the wall a smart rap with her knuckles. It was only matchboard, she decided, run up to

make many little rooms of one large one. Her grey petticoats slipped to the ground, and, stooping, she folded

her clothes with neat, if not loving fingers, screwed her hair into a plait, wound her father's great gold watch,

and opened the complete works of Wordsworth. She was reading the "Prelude," partly because she always

read the "Prelude" abroad, and partly because she was engaged in writing a short _Primer_ _of_ _English_

_Literature__Beowulf_ _to_ _Swinburne_which would have a paragraph on Wordsworth. She was deep

in the fifth book, stopping indeed to pencil a note, when a pair of boots dropped, one after another, on the

floor above her. She looked up and speculated. Whose boots were they, she wondered. She then became

aware of a swishing sound next door a woman, clearly, putting away her dress. It was succeeded by a

gentle tapping sound, such as that which accompanies hairdressing. It was very difficult to keep her

attention fixed upon the "Prelude." Was it Susan Warrington tapping? She forced herself, however, to read to

the end of the book, when she placed a mark between the pages, sighed contentedly, and then turned out the

Very different was the room through the wall, though as like in shape as one eggbox is like another. As

Miss Allan read her book, Susan Warrington was brushing her hair. Ages have consecrated this hour, and the

most majestic of all domestic actions, to talk of love between women; but Miss Warrington being alone could

not talk; she could only look with extreme solicitude at her own face in the glass. She turned her head from

side to side, tossing heavy locks now this way now that; and then withdrew a pace or two, and considered

"I'm nicelooking," she determined. "Not prettypossibly," she drew herself up a little. "Yesmost people

She was really wondering what Arthur Venning would say she was. Her feeling about him was decidedly

queer. She would not admit to herself that she was in love with him or that she wanted to marry him, yet she

spent every minute when she was alone in wondering what he thought of her, and in comparing what they

"He didn't ask me to play, but he certainly followed me into the hall," she meditated, summing up the

evening. She was thirty years of age, and owing to the number of her sisters and the seclusion of life in a

country parsonage had as yet had no proposal of marriage. The hour of confidences was often a sad one, and

she had been known to jump into bed, treating her hair unkindly, feeling herself overlooked by life in

comparison with others. She was a big, wellmade woman, the red lying upon her cheeks in patches that

She was just about to pull back the bedclothes when she exclaimed, "Oh, but I'm forgetting," and went to

her writingtable. A brown volume lay there stamped with the figure of the year. She proceeded to write in

the square ugly hand of a mature child, as she wrote daily year after year, keeping the diaries, though she

"A.M.Talked to Mrs. H. Elliot about country neighbours. She knows the Manns; also the

SelbyCarroways. How small the world is! Like her. Read a chapter of _Miss_ _Appleby's_ _Adventure_ to

Aunt E. P.M.Played lawntennis with Mr. Perrott and Evelyn M. Don't _like_ Mr. P. Have a feeling that

he is not 'quite,' though clever certainly. Beat them. Day splendid, view wonderful. One gets used to no trees,

though much too bare at first. Cards after dinner. Aunt E. cheerful, though twingy, she says. Mem.: _ask_

She knelt in prayer, and then lay down in bed, tucking the blankets comfortably about her, and in a few

minutes her breathing showed that she was asleep. With its profoundly peaceful sighs and hesitations it

resembled that of a cow standing up to its knees all night through in the long grass.

A glance into the next room revealed little more than a nose, prominent above the sheets. Growing

accustomed to the darkness, for the windows were open and showed grey squares with splinters of starlight,

one could distinguish a lean form, terribly like the body of a dead person, the body indeed of William Pepper,

asleep too. Thirtysix, thirtyseven, thirtyeighthere were three Portuguese men of business, asleep

presumably, since a snore came with the regularity of a great ticking clock. Thirtynine was a corner room, at

the end of the passage, but late though it was"One" struck gently downstairsa line of light under the

"How late you are, Hugh!" a woman, lying in bed, said in a peevish but solicitous voice. Her husband was

To that he made no answer, but only remarked, "Well then, we'll turn out the light." They were silent.

The faint but penetrating pulse of an electric bell could now be heard in the corridor. Old Mrs. Paley, having

woken hungry but without her spectacles, was summoning her maid to find the biscuitbox. The maid having

answered the bell, drearily respectful even at this hour though muffled in a mackintosh, the passage was left

in silence. Downstairs all was empty and dark; but on the upper floor a light still burnt in the room where the

boots had dropped so heavily above Miss Allan's head. Here was the gentleman who, a few hours previously,

in the shade of the curtain, had seemed to consist entirely of legs. Deep in an armchair he was reading the

third volume of Gibbon's _History_ _of_ _the_ _Decline_ _and_ _Fall_ _of_ _Rome_ by candlelight. As he

read he knocked the ash automatically, now and again, from his cigarette and turned the page, while a whole

procession of splendid sentences entered his capacious brow and went marching through his brain in order. It

seemed likely that this process might continue for an hour or more, until the entire regiment had shifted its

quarters, had not the door opened, and the young man, who was inclined to be stout, come in with large

"D'you think you _do_ make enough allowance for feelings?" asked Mr. Hewet. He had again forgotten what

After intense contemplation of the immaculate Gibbon Mr. Hirst smiled at the question of his friend. He laid

"I should call yours a singularly untidy mind," he observed. "Feelings? Aren't they just what we do allow for?

We put love up there, and all the rest somewhere down below." With his left hand he indicated the top of a

"Meanwhile I shall undress," said Hirst. When naked of all but his shirt, and bent over the basin, Mr. Hirst no

longer impressed one with the majesty of his intellect, but with the pathos of his young yet ugly body, for he

stooped, and he was so thin that there were dark lines between the different bones of his neck and shoulders.

"Women interest me," said Hewet, who, sitting on the bed with his chin resting on his knees, paid no

"There can't be two opinions about that, I imagine," said Hirst, hopping briskly across the room, "unless

"The women I saw tonight were not fat," said Hirst, who was taking advantage of Hewet's company to cut

"You know I can't describe things!" said Hirst. "They were much like other women, I should think. They

"No; that's where we differ," said Hewet. "I say everything's different. No two people are in the least the

"So I used to think once," said Hirst. "But now they're all types. Don't take us,take this hotel. You could

"Mr. Hughling Elliot, Mrs. Hughling Elliot, Miss Allan, Mr. and Mrs. Thornburyone circle," Hirst

continued. "Miss Warrington, Mr. Arthur Venning, Mr. Perrott, Evelyn M. another circle; then there are a

"Quite alone," said Hirst. "You try to get out, but you can't. You only make a mess of things by trying."

"I wonder if this is what they call an ingrowing toenail?" said Hirst, examining the big toe on his left foot.

"I flit from branch to branch," continued Hewet. "The world is profoundly pleasant." He lay back on the bed,

"I wonder if it's really nice to be as vague as you are?" asked Hirst, looking at him. "It's the lack of

continuitythat's what's so odd bout you," he went on. "At the age of twentyseven, which is nearly thirty,

you seem to have drawn no conclusions. A party of old women excites you still as though you were three."

Hewet contemplated the angular young man who was neatly brushing the rims of his toenails into the

"I envy yousome things," said Hirst. "One: your capacity for not thinking; two: people like you better than

"I wonder whether that isn't really what matters most?" said Hewet. Lying now flat on the bed he waved his

"Of course it is," said Hirst. "But that's not the difficulty. The difficulty is, isn't it, to find an appropriate

Although they had known each other for three years Hirst had never yet heard the true story of Hewet's loves.

In general conversation it was taken for granted that they were many, but in private the subject was allowed

to lapse. The fact that he had money enough to do no work, and that he had left Cambridge after two terms

owing to a difference with the authorities, and had then travelled and drifted, made his life strange at many

"I don't see your circlesI don't see them," Hewet continued. "I see a thing like a teetotum spinning in and

outknocking into things dashing from side to sidecollecting numbersmore and more and more, till

the whole place is thick with them. Round and round they go out there, over the rimout of sight."

His fingers showed that the waltzing teetotums had spun over the edge of the counterpane and fallen off the

"Could you contemplate three weeks alone in this hotel?" asked Hirst, after a moment's pause.

"The truth of it is that one never is alone, and one never is in company," he concluded.

"Meaning? Oh, something about bubblesauraswhat d'you call 'em? You can't see my bubble; I can't see

yours; all we see of each other is a speck, like the wick in the middle of that flame. The flame goes about with

us everywhere; it's not ourselves exactly, but what we feel; the world is short, or people mainly; all kinds of

"Thenthenthen" pondered Hewet, as if to himself, "it would be an enormous world," he said,

stretching his arms to their full width, as though even so they could hardly clasp the billowy universe, for

"I don't think you altogether as foolish as I used to, Hewet," said Hirst. "You don't know what you mean but

"On the wholeyes," said Hirst. "I like observing people. I like looking at things. This country is amazingly

beautiful. Did you notice how the top of the mountain turned yellow tonight? Really we must take our lunch

and spend the day out. You're getting disgustingly fat." He pointed at the calf of Hewet's bare leg.

"We'll get up an expedition," said Hewet energetically. "We'll ask the entire hotel. We'll hire donkeys and"

"Oh, Lord!" said Hirst, "do shut it! I can see Miss Warrington and Miss Allan and Mrs. Elliot and the rest

"We'll ask Venning and Perrott and Miss Murgatroydevery one we can lay hands on," went on Hewet.

"What's the name of the little old grasshopper with the eyeglasses? Pepper?Pepper shall lead us."

"I must make a note of that," said Hewet, slowly dropping his feet to the floor. "Hirst escorts Miss

Warrington; Pepper advances alone on a white ass; provisions equally distributedor shall we hire a mule?

"How long should you think that an expedition like that would take, Hirst?" asked Hewet.

"From twelve to sixteen hours I would say," said Hirst. "The time usually occupied by a first confinement."

"It will need considerable organisation," said Hewet. He was now padding softly round the room, and stopped

"We shall want some poets too," he remarked. "Not Gibbon; no; d'you happen to have _Modern_ _Love_ or

_John_ _Donne_? You see, I contemplate pauses when people get tired of looking at the view, and then it

"Mrs. Paley will enjoy it certainly," said Hewet. "It's one of the saddest things I knowthe way elderly

I speak as one who plumbs Life's dim profound, One who at length can sound Clear views and certain.

Butafter love what comes? A scene that lours, A few sad vacant hours, And then, the Curtain.

"We'll ask her," said Hirst. "Please, Hewet, if you must go to bed, draw my curtain. Few things distress me

Hewet retreated, pressing the poems of Thomas Hardy beneath his arm, and in their beds next door to each

Between the extinction of Hewet's candle and the rising of a dusky Spanish boy who was the first to survey

the desolation of the hotel in the early morning, a few hours of silence intervened. One could almost hear a

hundred people breathing deeply, and however wakeful and restless it would have been hard to escape sleep

in the middle of so much sleep. Looking out of the windows, there was only darkness to be seen. All over the

shadowed half of the world people lay prone, and a few flickering lights in empty streets marked the places

where their cities were built. Red and yellow omnibuses were crowding each other in Piccadilly; sumptuous

women were rocking at a standstill; but here in the darkness an owl flitted from tree to tree, and when the

breeze lifted the branches the moon flashed as if it were a torch. Until all people should awake again the

houseless animals were abroad, the tigers and the stags, and the elephants coming down in the darkness to

drink at pools. The wind at night blowing over the hills and woods was purer and fresher than the wind by

day, and the earth, robbed of detail, more mysterious than the earth coloured and divided by roads and fields.

For six hours this profound beauty existed, and then as the east grew whiter and whiter the ground swam to

the surface, the roads were revealed, the smoke rose and the people stirred, and the sun shone upon the

windows of the hotel at Santa Marina until they were uncurtained, and the gong blaring all through the house

Directly breakfast was over, the ladies as usual circled vaguely, picking up papers and putting them down

"And what are you going to do today?" asked Mrs. Elliot drifting up against Miss Warrington.

Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Hughling the Oxford Don, was a short woman, whose expression was habitually

plaintive. Her eyes moved from thing to thing as though they never found anything sufficiently pleasant to

"I'm going to try to get Aunt Emma out into the town," said Susan. "She's not seen a thing yet."

"I call it so spirited of her at her age," said Mrs. Elliot, "coming all this way from her own fireside."

"Yes, we always tell her she'll die on board ship," Susan replied. "She was born on one," she added.

"In the old days," said Mrs. Elliot, "a great many people were. I always pity the poor women so! We've got a

lot to complain of!" She shook her head. Her eyes wandered about the table, and she remarked irrelevantly,

"The poor little Queen of Holland! Newspaper reporters practically, one may say, at her bedroom door!"

"Were you talking of the Queen of Holland?" said the pleasant voice of Miss Allan, who was searching for

"I always envy any one who lives in such an excessively flat country," she remarked.

"On the contrary," said Miss Allan, "I am exceedingly fond of mountains." Perceiving _The_ _Times_ at

"And I must go to my aunt," said Miss Warrington, and taking up the duties of the day they moved away.

Whether the flimsiness of foreign sheets and the coarseness of their type is any proof of frivolity and

ignorance, there is no doubt that English people scarce consider news read there as news, any more than a

programme bought from a man in the street inspires confidence in what it says. A very respectable elderly

pair, having inspected the long tables of newspapers, did not think it worth their while to read more than the

"The debate on the fifteenth should have reached us by now," Mrs. Thornbury murmured. Mr. Thornbury,

who was beautifully clean and had red rubbed into his handsome worn face like traces of paint on a

weatherbeaten wooden figure, looked over his glasses and saw that Miss Allan had _The_ _Times_.

"Ah, there's Mr. Hewet," said Mrs. Thornbury. "Mr. Hewet," she continued, "do come and sit by us. I was

telling my husband how much you reminded me of a dear old friend of mineMary Umpleby. She was a

most delightful woman, I assure you. She grew roses. We used to stay with her in the old days."

"No young man likes to have it said that he resembles an elderly spinster," said Mr. Thornbury.

"On the contrary," said Mr. Hewet, "I always think it a compliment to remind people of some one else. But

"Ah, poor thing," said Mrs. Thornbury, "that's a long story. She had gone through dreadful sorrows. At one

time I think she would have lost her senses if it hadn't been for her garden. The soil was very much against

hera blessing in disguise; she had to be up at dawnout in all weathers. And then there are creatures that

eat roses. But she triumphed. She always did. She was a brave soul." She sighed deeply but at the same time

"I did not realise that I was monopolising the paper," said Miss Allan, coming up to them.

"We were so anxious to read about the debate," said Mrs. Thornbury, accepting it on behalf of her husband.

"One doesn't realise how interesting a debate can be until one has sons in the navy. My interests are equally

balanced, though; I have sons in the army too; and one son who makes speeches at the Union my baby!"

"Mr. Hirst has such an interesting face," said Mrs. Thornbury. "But I feel one ought to be very clever to talk

"They're making a mess of it," said Mr. Thornbury. He had reached the second column of the report, a

spasmodic column, for the Irish members had been brawling three weeks ago at Westminster over a question

of naval efficiency. After a disturbed paragraph or two, the column of print once more ran smoothly.

"No, I am ashamed to say I have only read about the discoveries in Crete," said Miss Allan.

"Oh, but I would give so much to realise the ancient world!" cried Mrs. Thornbury. "Now that we old people

are alone,we're on our second honeymoon,I am really going to put myself to school again. After all we

are _founded_ on the past, aren't we, Mr. Hewet? My soldier son says that there is still a great deal to be

learnt from Hannibal. One ought to know so much more than one does. Somehow when I read the paper, I

begin with the debates first, and, before I've done, the door always openswe're a very large party at

homeand so one never does think enough about the ancients and all they've done for us. But _you_ begin

"When I think of the Greeks I think of them as naked black men," said Miss Allan, "which is quite incorrect,

"And you, Mr. Hirst?" said Mrs. Thornbury, perceiving that the gaunt young man was near. "I'm sure you

"I confine myself to cricket and crime," said Hirst. "The worst of coming from the upper classes," he

Mr. Thornbury threw down the paper, and emphatically dropped his eyeglasses. The sheets fell in the middle

Hewet picked up one sheet and read, "A lady was walking yesterday in the streets of Westminster when she

"Remember, William, the Prime Minister has reserved his answer," said Mrs. Thornbury.

"At the age of eighty, Mr. Joshua Harris of Eeles Park, Brondesbury, has had a son," said Hirst.

". . . The famished animal, which had been noticed by workmen for some days, was rescued, butby Jove! it

"You're all neglecting the chief advantage of being abroad," said Mr. Hughling Elliot, who had joined the

group. "You might read your news in French, which is equivalent to reading no news at all."

Mr. Elliot had a profound knowledge of Coptic, which he concealed as far as possible, and quoted French

phrases so exquisitely that it was hard to believe that he could also speak the ordinary tongue. He had an

"Coming?" he asked the two young men. "We ought to start before it's really hot."

"I beg of you not to walk in the heat, Hugh," his wife pleaded, giving him an angular parcel enclosing half a

"Hewet will be our barometer," said Mr. Elliot. "He will melt before I shall." Indeed, if so much as a drop had

melted off his spare ribs, the bones would have lain bare. The ladies were left alone now, surrounding _The_

"What a fine creature she is!" murmured Mrs. Thornbury, as the square figure in its manly coat withdrew.

"Oh, it _is_ a hard life," said Mrs. Thornbury. "Unmarried women earning their livingsit's the hardest

"I'm afraid it's all a great many can hope to have," sighed Mrs. Thornbury. "I believe that there are more of us

than ever now. Sir Harley Lethbridge was telling me only the other day how difficult it is to find boys for the

navypartly because of their teeth, it is true. And I have heard young women talk quite openly of"

"Dreadful, dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. "The crown, as one may call it, of a woman's life. I, who know

"But we must not be hard," said Mrs. Thornbury. "The conditions are so much changed since I was a young

"In some ways we can learn a great deal from the young," said Mrs. Thornbury. "I learn so much from my

"I believe that Hughling really doesn't mind," said Mrs. Elliot. "But then he has his work."

"Women without children can do so much for the children of others," observed Mrs. Thornbury gently.

"I sketch a great deal," said Mrs. Elliot, "but that isn't really an occupation. It's so disconcerting to find girls

just beginning doing better than one does oneself! And nature's difficult very difficult!"

"They are so exhausting," said Mrs. Elliot. "I look strong, because of my colour; but I'm not; the youngest of

"If the mother is careful before," said Mrs. Thornbury judicially, "there is no reason why the size of the

family should make any difference. And there is no training like the training that brothers and sisters give

each other. I am sure of that. I have seen it with my own children. My eldest boy Ralph, for instance"

But Mrs. Elliot was inattentive to the elder lady's experience, and her eyes wandered about the hall.

"My mother had two miscarriages, I know," she said suddenly. "The first because she met one of those great

dancing bears they shouldn't be allowed; the otherit was a horrid storyour cook had a child and there

"And a miscarriage is so much worse than a confinement," Mrs. Thornbury murmured absentmindedly,

adjusting her spectacles and picking up _The_ _Times_. Mrs. Elliot rose and fluttered away.

When she had heard what one of the million voices speaking in the paper had to say, and noticed that a

cousin of hers had married a clergyman at Mineheadignoring the drunken women, the golden animals of

Crete, the movements of battalions, the dinners, the reforms, the fires, the indignant, the learned and

The paper lay directly beneath the clock, the two together seeming to represent stability in a changing world.

Mr. Perrott passed through; Mr. Venning poised for a second on the edge of a table. Mrs. Paley was wheeled

past. Susan followed. Mr. Venning strolled after her. Portuguese military families, their clothes suggesting

late rising in untidy bedrooms, trailed across, attended by confidential nurses carrying noisy children. As

midday drew on, and the sun beat straight upon the roof, an eddy of great flies droned in a circle; iced drinks

were served under the palms; the long blinds were pulled down with a shriek, turning all the light yellow. The

clock now had a silent hall to tick in, and an audience of four or five somnolent merchants. By degrees white

figures with shady hats came in at the door, admitting a wedge of the hot summer day, and shutting it out

again. After resting in the dimness for a minute, they went upstairs. Simultaneously, the clock wheezed one,

and the gong sounded, beginning softly, working itself into a frenzy, and ceasing. There was a pause. Then all

those who had gone upstairs came down; cripples came, planting both feet on the same step lest they should

slip; prim little girls came, holding the nurse's finger; fat old men came still buttoning waistcoats. The gong

had been sounded in the garden, and by degrees recumbent figures rose and strolled in to eat, since the time

had come for them to feed again. There were pools and bars of shade in the garden even at midday, where

Owing to the heat of the day, luncheon was generally a silent meal, when people observed their neighbors

and took stock of any new faces there might be, hazarding guesses as to who they were and what they did.

Mrs. Paley, although well over seventy and crippled in the legs, enjoyed her food and the peculiarities of her

"I shouldn't like to say what _she_ is!" she chuckled, surveying a tall woman dressed conspicuously in white,

with paint in the hollows of her cheeks, who was always late, and always attended by a shabby female

follower, at which remark Susan blushed, and wondered why her aunt said such things.

Lunch went on methodically, until each of the seven courses was left in fragments and the fruit was merely a

toy, to be peeled and sliced as a child destroys a daisy, petal by petal. The food served as an extinguisher

upon any faint flame of the human spirit that might survive the midday heat, but Susan sat in her room

afterwards, turning over and over the delightful fact that Mr. Venning had come to her in the garden, and had

sat there quite half an hour while she read aloud to her aunt. Men and women sought different corners where

they could lie unobserved, and from two to four it might be said without exaggeration that the hotel was

inhabited by bodies without souls. Disastrous would have been the result if a fire or a death had suddenly

demanded something heroic of human nature, but tragedies come in the hungry hours. Towards four o'clock

the human spirit again began to lick the body, as a flame licks a black promontory of coal. Mrs. Paley felt it

unseemly to open her toothless jaw so widely, though there was no one near, and Mrs. Elliot surveyed her

Half an hour later, having removed the traces of sleep, they met each other in the hall, and Mrs. Paley

"You like your tea too, don't you?" she said, and invited Mrs. Elliot, whose husband was still out, to join her

"They have such excellent biscuits here," she said, contemplating a plateful. "Not sweet biscuits, which I

"Oh, I've done two or three little daubs," said Mrs. Elliot, speaking rather louder than usual. "But it's so

difficult after Oxfordshire, where there are so many trees. The light's so strong here. Some people admire it, I

"I really don't need cooking, Susan," said Mrs. Paley, when her niece returned. "I must trouble you to move

me." Everything had to be moved. Finally the old lady was placed so that the light wavered over her, as

though she were a fish in a net. Susan poured out tea, and was just remarking that they were having hot

"It's so nice to find a young man who doesn't despise tea," said Mrs. Paley, regaining her good humour. "One

of my nephews the other day asked for a glass of sherryat five o'clock! I told him he could get it at the

"I'd rather go without lunch than tea," said Mr. Venning. "That's not strictly true. I want both."

Mr. Venning was a dark young man, about thirtytwo years of age, very slapdash and confident in his

manner, although at this moment obviously a little excited. His friend Mr. Perrott was a barrister, and as Mr.

Perrott refused to go anywhere without Mr. Venning it was necessary, when Mr. Perrott came to Santa

Marina about a Company, for Mr. Venning to come too. He was a barrister also, but he loathed a profession

which kept him indoors over books, and directly his widowed mother died he was going, so he confided to

Susan, to take up flying seriously, and become partner in a large business for making aeroplanes. The talk

rambled on. It dealt, of course, with the beauties and singularities of the place, the streets, the people, and the

"Don't you think it dreadfully cruel the way they treat dogs in this country?" asked Mrs. Paley.

"Jolly little chaps," said Mr. Venning. "Look here, you've got nothing to eat." A great wedge of cake was

handed Susan on the point of a trembling knife. Her hand trembled too as she took it.

"My parrot can't stand dogs," said Mrs. Paley, with the air of one making a confidence. "I always suspect that

"It was hot," she answered. Their conversation became private, owing to Mrs. Paley's deafness and the long

sad history which Mrs. Elliot had embarked upon of a wirehaired terrier, white with just one black spot,

belonging to an uncle of hers, which had committed suicide. "Animals do commit suicide," she sighed, as if

"You deserve a holiday," he said. "You're always doing things for other people."

At this moment Mrs. Elliot looked up and exclaimed, "Oh, Hugh! He's bringing some one," she added.

"He would like some tea," said Mrs. Paley. "Susan, run and get some cupsthere are the two young men."

"We're thirsting for tea," said Mr. Elliot. "You know Mr. Ambrose, Hilda? We met on the hill."

"He dragged me in," said Ridley, "or I should have been ashamed. I'm dusty and dirty and disagreeable." He

pointed to his boots which were white with dust, while a dejected flower drooping in his buttonhole, like an

exhausted animal over a gate, added to the effect of length and untidiness. He was introduced to the others.

Mr. Hewet and Mr. Hirst brought chairs, and tea began again, Susan pouring cascades of water from pot to

"My wife's brother," Ridley explained to Hilda, whom he failed to remember, "has a house here, which he has

lent us. I was sitting on a rock thinking of nothing at all when Elliot started up like a fairy in a pantomime."

"Our chicken got into the salt," Hewet said dolefully to Susan. "Nor is it true that bananas include moisture as

"We've been cursing you," said Ridley in answer to Mrs. Elliot's kind enquiries about his wife. "You tourists

eat up all the eggs, Helen tells me. That's an eyesore too"he nodded his head at the hotel. "Disgusting

"The food is not at all what it ought to be, considering the price," said Mrs. Paley seriously. "But unless one

"Stay at home," said Ridley. "I often wish I had! Everyone ought to stay at home. But, of course, they won't."

Mrs. Paley conceived a certain grudge against Ridley, who seemed to be criticising her habits after an

"I believe in foreign travel myself," she stated, "if one knows one's native land, which I think I can honestly

say I do. I should not allow any one to travel until they had visited Kent and Dorsetshire Kent for the hops,

and Dorsetshire for its old stone cottages. There is nothing to compare with them here."

"YesI always think that some people like the flat and other people like the downs," said Mrs. Elliot rather

Hirst, who had been eating and drinking without interruption, now lit a cigarette, and observed, "Oh, but

we're all agreed by this time that nature's a mistake. She's either very ugly, appallingly uncomfortable, or

absolutely terrifying. I don't know which alarms me mosta cow or a tree. I once met a cow in a field by

night. The creature looked at me. I assure you it turned my hair grey. It's a disgrace that the animals should be

"And what did the cow think of _him_?" Venning mumbled to Susan, who immediately decided in her own

mind that Mr. Hirst was a dreadful young man, and that although he had such an air of being clever he

"Wasn't it Wilde who discovered the fact that nature makes no allowance for hipbones?" enquired Hughling

Elliot. He knew by this time exactly what scholarships and distinction Hirst enjoyed, and had formed a very

Ridley conjectured that it was now permissible for him to take his leave. Politeness required him to thank

Mrs. Elliot for his tea, and to add, with a wave of his hand, "You must come up and see us."

The wave included both Hirst and Hewet, and Hewet answered, "I should like it immensely."

The party broke up, and Susan, who had never felt so happy in her life, was just about to start for her walk in

the town with Arthur, when Mrs. Paley beckoned her back. She could not understand from the book how

Double Demon patience is played; and suggested that if they sat down and worked it out together it would fill

Among the promises which Mrs. Ambrose had made her niece should she stay was a room cut off from the

rest of the house, large, private a room in which she could play, read, think, defy the world, a fortress as

well as a sanctuary. Rooms, she knew, became more like worlds than rooms at the age of twentyfour. Her

judgment was correct, and when she shut the door Rachel entered an enchanted place, where the poets sang

and things fell into their right proportions. Some days after the vision of the hotel by night she was sitting

alone, sunk in an armchair, reading a brightlycovered red volume lettered on the back _Works_ _of_

_Henrik_ _Ibsen_. Music was open on the piano, and books of music rose in two jagged pillars on the floor;

Far from looking bored or absentminded, her eyes were concentrated almost sternly upon the page, and

from her breathing, which was slow but repressed, it could be seen that her whole body was constrained by

the working of her mind. At last she shut the book sharply, lay back, and drew a deep breath, expressive of

the wonder which always marks the transition from the imaginary world to the real world.

"What I want to know," she said aloud, "is this: What is the truth? What's the truth of it all?" She was

speaking partly as herself, and partly as the heroine of the play she had just read. The landscape outside,

because she had seen nothing but print for the space of two hours, now appeared amazingly solid and clear,

but although there were men on the hill washing the trunks of olive trees with a white liquid, for the moment

she herself was the most vivid thing in itan heroic statue in the middle of the foreground, dominating the

view. Ibsen's plays always left her in that condition. She acted them for days at a time, greatly to Helen's

amusement; and then it would be Meredith's turn and she became Diana of the Crossways. But Helen was

aware that it was not all acting, and that some sort of change was taking place in the human being. When

Rachel became tired of the rigidity of her pose on the back of the chair, she turned round, slid comfortably

down into it, and gazed out over the furniture through the window opposite which opened on the garden. (Her

mind wandered away from Nora, but she went on thinking of things that the book suggested to her, of women

During the three months she had been here she had made up considerably, as Helen meant she should, for

time spent in interminable walks round sheltered gardens, and the household gossip of her aunts. But Mrs.

Ambrose would have been the first to disclaim any influence, or indeed any belief that to influence was

within her power. She saw her less shy, and less serious, which was all to the good, and the violent leaps and

the interminable mazes which had led to that result were usually not even guessed at by her. Talk was the

medicine she trusted to, talk about everything, talk that was free, unguarded, and as candid as a habit of

talking with men made natural in her own case. Nor did she encourage those habits of unselfishness and

amiability founded upon insincerity which are put at so high a value in mixed households of men and women.

She desired that Rachel should think, and for this reason offered books and discouraged too entire a

dependence upon Bach and Beethoven and Wagner. But when Mrs. Ambrose would have suggested Defoe,

Maupassant, or some spacious chronicle of family life, Rachel chose modern books, books in shiny yellow

covers, books with a great deal of gilding on the back, which were tokens in her aunt's eyes of harsh

wrangling and disputes about facts which had no such importance as the moderns claimed for them. But she

did not interfere. Rachel read what she chose, reading with the curious literalness of one to whom written

sentences are unfamiliar, and handling words as though they were made of wood, separately of great

importance, and possessed of shapes like tables or chairs. In this way she came to conclusions, which had to

be remodelled according to the adventures of the day, and were indeed recast as liberally as any one could

Ibsen was succeeded by a novel such as Mrs. Ambrose detested, whose purpose was to distribute the guilt of

a woman's downfall upon the right shoulders; a purpose which was achieved, if the reader's discomfort were

any proof of it. She threw the book down, looked out of the window, turned away from the window, and

The morning was hot, and the exercise of reading left her mind contracting and expanding like the

mainspring of a clock, and the small noises of midday, which one can ascribe to no definite cause, in a

regular rhythm. It was all very real, very big, very impersonal, and after a moment or two she began to raise

her first finger and to let it fall on the arm of her chair so as to bring back to herself some consciousness of

her own existence. She was next overcome by the unspeakable queerness of the fact that she should be sitting

in an armchair, in the morning, in the middle of the world. Who were the people moving in the house

moving things from one place to another? And life, what was that? It was only a light passing over the

surface and vanishing, as in time she would vanish, though the furniture in the room would remain. Her

dissolution became so complete that she could not raise her finger any more, and sat perfectly still, listening

and looking always at the same spot. It became stranger and stranger. She was overcome with awe that things

should exist at all. . . . She forgot that she had any fingers to raise. . . . The things that existed were so

immense and so desolate. . . . She continued to be conscious of these vast masses of substance for a long

"Come in," she said mechanically, for a string in her brain seemed to be pulled by a persistent knocking at the

door. With great slowness the door opened and a tall human being came towards her, holding out her arm and

The utter absurdity of a woman coming into a room with a piece of paper in her hand amazed Rachel.

"I don't know what to answer, or who Terence Hewet is," Helen continued, in the toneless voice of a ghost.

DEAR MRS. AMBROSEI am getting up a picnic for next Friday, when we propose to start at

eleventhirty if the weather is fine, and to make the ascent of Monte Rosa. It will take some time, but the

view should be magnificent. It would give me great pleasure if you and Miss Vinrace would consent to be of

Rachel read the words aloud to make herself believe in them. For the same reason she put her hand on

"Booksbooksbooks," said Helen, in her absentminded way. "More new booksI wonder what you

For the second time Rachel read the letter, but to herself. This time, instead of seeming vague as ghosts, each

word was astonishingly prominent; they came out as the tops of mountains come through a mist.

_Friday__eleventhirty__Miss_ _Vinrace_. The blood began to run in her veins; she felt her eyes

"We must go," she said, rather surprising Helen by her decision. "We must certainly go"such was the relief

of finding that things still happened, and indeed they appeared the brighter for the mist surrounding them.

"Monte Rosathat's the mountain over there, isn't it?" said Helen; "but Hewetwho's he? One of the young

She took the letter back and went, for the messenger was waiting for her answer.

The party which had been suggested a few nights ago in Mr. Hirst's bedroom had taken shape and was the

source of great satisfaction to Mr. Hewet, who had seldom used his practical abilities, and was pleased to find

them equal to the strain. His invitations had been universally accepted, which was the more encouraging as

they had been issued against Hirst's advice to people who were very dull, not at all suited to each other, and

"Undoubtedly," he said, as he twirled and untwirled a note signed Helen Ambrose, "the gifts needed to make

a great commander have been absurdly overrated. About half the intellectual effort which is needed to review

a book of modern poetry has enabled me to get together seven or eight people, of opposite sexes, at the same

spot at the same hour on the same day. What else is generalship, Hirst? What more did Wellington do on the

field of Waterloo? It's like counting the number of pebbles of a path, tedious but not difficult."

He was sitting in his bedroom, one leg over the arm of the chair, and Hirst was writing a letter opposite. Hirst

"For instance, here are two women you've never seen. Suppose one of them suffers from mountainsickness,

"Oh, the women are for you," Hewet interrupted. "I asked them solely for your benefit. What you want, Hirst,

you know, is the society of young women of your own age. You don't know how to get on with women,

But Hewet's complacency was a little chilled as he walked with Hirst to the place where a general meeting

had been appointed. He wondered why on earth he had asked these people, and what one really expected to

"Cows," he reflected, "draw together in a field; ships in a calm; and we're just the same when we've nothing

else to do. But why do we do it?is it to prevent ourselves from seeing to the bottom of things" (he stopped

by a stream and began stirring it with his walkingstick and clouding the water with mud), "making cities and

mountains and whole universes out of nothing, or do we really love each other, or do we, on the other hand,

live in a state of perpetual uncertainty, knowing nothing, leaping from moment to moment as from world to

He jumped over the stream; Hirst went round and joined him, remarking that he had long ceased to look for

Half a mile further, they came to a group of plane trees and the salmonpink farmhouse standing by the

stream which had been chosen as meetingplace. It was a shady spot, lying conveniently just where the hill

sprung out from the flat. Between the thin stems of the plane trees the young men could see little knots of

donkeys pasturing, and a tall woman rubbing the nose of one of them, while another woman was kneeling by

Rachel approached awkwardly. She held out her hand, but withdrew it. "It's all wet," she said.

The donkeys were quickly jerked into attention, and the second carriage arrived. By degrees the grove filled

with people the Elliots, the Thornburys, Mr. Venning and Susan, Miss Allan, Evelyn Murgatroyd, and Mr.

Perrott. Mr. Hirst acted the part of hoarse energetic sheepdog. By means of a few words of caustic Latin he

had the animals marshalled, and by inclining a sharp shoulder he lifted the ladies. "What Hewet fails to

understand," he remarked, "is that we must break the back of the ascent before midday." He was assisting a

young lady, by name Evelyn Murgatroyd, as he spoke. She rose light as a bubble to her seat. With a feather

drooping from a broadbrimmed hat, in white from top to toe, she looked like a gallant lady of the time of

"Ride with me," she commanded; and, as soon as Hirst had swung himself across a mule, the two started,

"You're not to call me Miss Murgatroyd. I hate it," she said. "My name's Evelyn. What's yours?"

"Oh, you're all too clever," she said. "Which way?" Pick me a branch. Let's canter."

She gave her donkey a sharp cut with a switch and started forward. The full and romantic career of Evelyn

Murgatroyd is best hit off by her own words, "Call me Evelyn and I'll call you St. John." She said that on

very slight provocationher surname was enough but although a great many young men had answered

her already with considerable spirit she went on saying it and making choice of none. But her donkey

stumbled to a jogtrot, and she had to ride in advance alone, for the path when it began to ascend one of the

spines of the hill became narrow and scattered with stones. The cavalcade wound on like a jointed caterpillar,

tufted with the white parasols of the ladies, and the panama hats of the gentlemen. At one point where the

ground rose sharply, Evelyn M. jumped off, threw her reins to the native boy, and adjured St. John Hirst to

dismount too. Their example was followed by those who felt the need of stretching.

"I don't see any need to get off," said Miss Allan to Mrs. Elliot just behind her, "considering the difficulty I

"These little donkeys stand anything, _n'estce_ _pas_?" Mrs. Elliot addressed the guide, who obligingly

"Flowers," said Helen, stooping to pick the lovely little bright flowers which grew separately here and there.

"You pinch their leaves and then they smell," she said, laying one on Miss Allan's knee.

"I was taking it for granted," Helen laughed, for in the confusion of meeting they had not been introduced.

"How sensible!" chirped Mrs. Elliot. "That's just what one would always likeonly unfortunately it's not

possible." "Not possible?" said Helen. "Everything's possible. Who knows what mayn't happen before

nightfall?" she continued, mocking the poor lady's timidity, who depended implicitly upon one thing

following another that the mere glimpse of a world where dinner could be disregarded, or the table moved

one inch from its accustomed place, filled her with fears for her own stability.

Higher and higher they went, becoming separated from the world. The world, when they turned to look back,

"Towns are very small," Rachel remarked, obscuring the whole of Santa Marina and its suburbs with one

hand. The sea filled in all the angles of the coast smoothly, breaking in a white frill, and here and there ships

were set firmly in the blue. The sea was stained with purple and green blots, and there was a glittering line

upon the rim where it met the sky. The air was very clear and silent save for the sharp noise of grasshoppers

and the hum of bees, which sounded loud in the ear as they shot past and vanished. The party halted and sat

"Amazingly clear," exclaimed St. John, identifying one cleft in the land after another.

Evelyn M. sat beside him, propping her chin on her hand. She surveyed the view with a certain look of

"D'you think Garibaldi was ever up here?" she asked Mr. Hirst. Oh, if she had been his bride! If, instead of a

picnic party, this was a party of patriots, and she, redshirted like the rest, had lain among grim men, flat on

the turf, aiming her gun at the white turrets beneath them, screening her eyes to pierce through the smoke! So

"Fightingrevolution," she said, still gazing at the doomed city. "You only care for books, I know."

"Explain," she urged, for there were no guns to be aimed at bodies, and she turned to another kind of warfare.

"Well, I _am_ surprised!" she exclaimed. "You look so awfully serious. Do let's be friends and tell each other

But St. John was decidedly cautious, as she could see by the sudden constriction of his lips, and had no

intention of revealing his soul to a young lady. "The ass is eating my hat," he remarked, and stretched out for

it instead of answering her. Evelyn blushed very slightly and then turned with some impetuosity upon Mr.

Perrott, and when they mounted again it was Mr. Perrott who lifted her to her seat.

"When one has laid the eggs one eats the omelette," said Hughling Elliot, exquisitely in French, a hint to the

The midday sun which Hirst had foretold was beginning to beat down hotly. The higher they got the more of

the sky appeared, until the mountain was only a small tent of earth against an enormous blue background.

The English fell silent; the natives who walked beside the donkeys broke into queer wavering songs and

tossed jokes from one to the other. The way grew very steep, and each rider kept his eyes fixed on the

hobbling curved form of the rider and donkey directly in front of him. Rather more strain was being put upon

their bodies than is quite legitimate in a party of pleasure, and Hewet overheard one or two slightly grumbling

"Expeditions in such heat are perhaps a little unwise," Mrs. Elliot murmured to Miss Allan.

But Miss Allan returned, "I always like to get to the top"; and it was true, although she was a big woman, stiff

in the joints, and unused to donkeyriding, but as her holidays were few she made the most of them.

The vivacious white figure rode well in front; she had somehow possessed herself of a leafy branch and wore

"The view will be wonderful," Hewet assured them, turning round in his saddle and smiling encouragement.

Rachel caught his eye and smiled too. They struggled on for some time longer, nothing being heard but the

clatter of hooves striving on the loose stones. Then they saw that Evelyn was off her ass, and that Mr. Perrott

was standing in the attitude of a statesman in Parliament Square, stretching an arm of stone towards the view.

A little to the left of them was a low ruined wall, the stump of an Elizabethan watchtower.

"I couldn't have stood it much longer," Mrs. Elliot confided to Mrs. Thornbury, but the excitement of being at

the top in another moment and seeing the view prevented any one from answering her. One after another they

came out on the flat space at the top and stood overcome with wonder. Before them they beheld an immense

space grey sands running into forest, and forest merging in mountains, and mountains washed by air, the

infinite distances of South America. A river ran across the plain, as flat as the land, and appearing quite as

stationary. The effect of so much space was at first rather chilling. They felt themselves very small, and for

some time no one said anything. Then Evelyn exclaimed, "Splendid!" She took hold of the hand that was next

"NorthSouthEastWest," said Miss Allan, jerking her head slightly towards the points of the compass.

Hewet, who had gone a little in front, looked up at his guests as if to justify himself for having brought them.

He observed how strangely the people standing in a row with their figures bent slightly forward and their

clothes plastered by the wind to the shape of their bodies resembled naked statues. On their pedestal of earth

they looked unfamiliar and noble, but in another moment they had broken their rank, and he had to see to the

laying out of food. Hirst came to his help, and they handed packets of chicken and bread from one to another.

"Your lights tempted us," said Helen. "We watched you playing cards, but we never knew that we were being

"I don't know of anything more dreadful," he said, pulling at the joint of a chicken's leg, "than being seen

when one isn't conscious of it. One feels sure one has been caught doing something ridiculous looking at

Now the others ceased to look at the view, and drawing together sat down in a circle round the baskets.

"And yet those little lookingglasses in hansoms have a fascination of their own," said Mrs. Thornbury.

"There will soon be very few hansom cabs left," said Mrs. Elliot. "And fourwheeled cabsI assure you

"It's high time that horses should become extinct anyhow," said Hirst. "They're distressingly ugly, besides

But Susan, who had been brought up to understand that the horse is the noblest of God's creatures, could not

agree, and Venning thought Hirst an unspeakable ass, but was too polite not to continue the conversation.

"When they see us falling out of aeroplanes they get some of their own back, I expect," he remarked.

Here flying was discussed at length, and Mrs. Thornbury delivered an opinion which was almost a speech to

the effect that it would be quite necessary in time of war, and in England we were terribly behindhand. "If I

were a young fellow," she concluded, "I should certainly qualify." It was odd to look at the little elderly lady,

in her grey coat and skirt, with a sandwich in her hand, her eyes lighting up with zeal as she imagined herself

a young man in an aeroplane. For some reason, however, the talk did not run easily after this, and all they

said was about drink and salt and the view. Suddenly Miss Allan, who was seated with her back to the ruined

wall, put down her sandwich, picked something off her neck, and remarked, "I'm covered with little

creatures." It was true, and the discovery was very welcome. The ants were pouring down a glacier of loose

earth heaped between the stones of the ruinlarge brown ants with polished bodies. She held out one on the

"They will not sting, but they may infest the victuals," said Miss Allan, and measures were taken at once to

divert the ants from their course. At Hewet's suggestion it was decided to adopt the methods of modern

warfare against an invading army. The tablecloth represented the invaded country, and round it they built

barricades of baskets, set up the wine bottles in a rampart, made fortifications of bread and dug fosses of salt.

When an ant got through it was exposed to a fire of breadcrumbs, until Susan pronounced that that was

cruel, and rewarded those brave spirits with spoil in the shape of tongue. Playing this game they lost their

stiffness, and even became unusually daring, for Mr. Perrott, who was very shy, said, "Permit me," and

"It would be no laughing matter really," said Mrs. Elliot confidentially to Mrs. Thornbury, "if an ant did get

The noise grew suddenly more clamorous, for it was discovered that a long line of ants had found their way

on to the tablecloth by a back entrance, and if success could be gauged by noise, Hewet had every reason to

think his party a success. Nevertheless he became, for no reason at all, profoundly depressed.

"They are not satisfactory; they are ignoble," he thought, surveying his guests from a little distance, where he

was gathering together the plates. He glanced at them all, stooping and swaying and gesticulating round the

tablecloth. Amiable and modest, respectable in many ways, lovable even in their contentment and desire to

be kind, how mediocre they all were, and capable of what insipid cruelty to one another! There was Mrs.

Thornbury, sweet but trivial in her maternal egoism; Mrs. Elliot, perpetually complaining of her lot; her

husband a mere pea in a pod; and Susanshe had no self, and counted neither one way nor the other;

Venning was as honest and as brutal as a schoolboy; poor old Thornbury merely trod his round like a horse in

a mill; and the less one examined into Evelyn's character the better, he suspected. Yet these were the people

with money, and to them rather than to others was given the management of the world. Put among them some

one more vital, who cared for life or for beauty, and what an agony, what a waste would they inflict on him if

"There's Hirst," he concluded, coming to the figure of his friend; with his usual little frown of concentration

upon his forehead he was peeling the skin off a banana. "And he's as ugly as sin." For the ugliness of St. John

Hirst, and the limitations that went with it, he made the rest in some way responsible. It was their fault that he

had to live alone. Then he came to Helen, attracted to her by the sound of her laugh. She was laughing at

Miss Allan. "You wear combinations in this heat?" she said in a voice which was meant to be private. He

liked the look of her immensely, not so much her beauty, but her largeness and simplicity, which made her

stand out from the rest like a great stone woman, and he passed on in a gentler mood. His eye fell upon

Rachel. She was lying back rather behind the others resting on one elbow; she might have been thinking

precisely the same thoughts as Hewet himself. Her eyes were fixed rather sadly but not intently upon the row

of people opposite her. Hewet crawled up to her on his knees, with a piece of bread in his hand.

One after another they rose and stretched themselves, and in a few minutes divided more or less into two

separate parties. One of these parties was dominated by Hughling Elliot and Mrs. Thornbury, who, having

both read the same books and considered the same questions, were now anxious to name the places beneath

them and to hang upon them stores of information about navies and armies, political parties, natives and

mineral productsall of which combined, they said, to prove that South America was the country of the

Mr. Perrott answered, surveying the plain, that a country with a future was a very fine thing.

"If I were you," said Evelyn, turning to him and drawing her glove vehemently through her fingers, "I'd raise

a troop and conquer some great territory and make it splendid. You'd want women for that. I'd love to start

life from the very beginning as it ought to be nothing squalidbut great halls and gardens and splendid

"And would you really be content without pretty frocks and sweets and all the things young ladies like?"

asked Mr. Perrott, concealing a certain amount of pain beneath his ironical manner.

"I'm not a young lady," Evelyn flashed; she bit her underlip. "Just because I like splendid things you laugh at

"Look here," said Mr. Perrott, "you don't give me a chance. You think we ought to begin things fresh. Good.

But I don't see preciselyconquer a territory? They're all conquered already, aren't they?"

"It's not any territory in particular," Evelyn explained. "It's the idea, don't you see? We lead such tame lives.

Hewet saw the scars and hollows in Mr. Perrott's sagacious face relax pathetically. He could imagine the

calculations which even then went on within his mind, as to whether he would be justified in asking a woman

to marry him, considering that he made no more than five hundred a year at the Bar, owned no private means,

and had an invalid sister to support. Mr. Perrott again knew that he was not "quite," as Susan stated in her

diary; not quite a gentleman she meant, for he was the son of a grocer in Leeds, had started life with a basket

on his back, and now, though practically indistinguishable from a born gentleman, showed his origin to keen

eyes in an impeccable neatness of dress, lack of freedom in manner, extreme cleanliness of person, and a

certain indescribable timidity and precision with his knife and fork which might be the relic of days when

The two parties who were strolling about and losing their unity now came together, and joined each other in a

long stare over the yellow and green patches of the heated landscape below. The hot air danced across it,

making it impossible to see the roofs of a village on the plain distinctly. Even on the top of the mountain

where a breeze played lightly, it was very hot, and the heat, the food, the immense space, and perhaps some

less welldefined cause produced a comfortable drowsiness and a sense of happy relaxation in them. They

"Suppose we go and see what's to be seen over there?" said Arthur to Susan, and the pair walked off together,

"An odd lot, aren't they?" said Arthur. "I thought we should never get 'em all to the top. But I'm glad we

"I don't _like_ Mr. Hirst," said Susan inconsequently. "I suppose he's very clever, but why should clever

people be soI expect he's awfully nice, really," she added, instinctively qualifying what might have seemed

"Hirst? Oh, he's one of these learned chaps," said Arthur indifferently. "He don't look as if he enjoyed it. You

should hear him talking to Elliot. It's as much as I can do to follow 'em at all. . . . I was never good at my

With these sentences and the pauses that came between them they reached a little hillock, on the top of which

"D'you mind if we sit down here?" said Arthur, looking about him. "It's jolly in the shadeand the view"

"But I do envy those clever chaps sometimes," Arthur remarked. "I don't suppose they ever . . ." He did not

"Odd things happen to one," said Arthur. "One goes along smoothly enough, one thing following another, and

it's all very jolly and plain sailing, and you think you know all about it, and suddenly one doesn't know where

one is a bit, and everything seems different from what it used to seem. Now today, coming up that path,

riding behind you, I seemed to see everything as if" he paused and plucked a piece of grass up by the roots.

He scattered the little lumps of earth which were sticking to the roots"As if it had a kind of meaning.

You've made the difference to me," he jerked out, "I don't see why I shouldn't tell you. I've felt it ever since I

Even while they had been saying commonplace things Susan had been conscious of the excitement of

intimacy, which seemed not only to lay bare something in her, but in the trees and the sky, and the progress

of his speech which seemed inevitable was positively painful to her, for no human being had ever come so

She was struck motionless as his speech went on, and her heart gave great separate leaps at the last words.

She sat with her fingers curled round a stone, looking straight in front of her down the mountain over the

Arthur looked round at her; his face was oddly twisted. She was drawing her breath with such difficulty that

"You might have known." He seized her in his arms; again and again and again they clasped each other,

"Well," sighed Arthur, sinking back on the ground, "that's the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to

me." He looked as if he were trying to put things seen in a dream beside real things.

"It's the most perfect thing in the world," Susan stated, very gently and with great conviction. It was no longer

merely a proposal of marriage, but of marriage with Arthur, with whom she was in love.

In the silence that followed, holding his hand tightly in hers, she prayed to God that she might make him a

"Dear old fellow," said Arthur who, now that the first shock was over, was relaxing into an enormous sense

He told her how hard Perrott's life had been, and how absurdly devoted he was to Arthur himself. He went on

to tell her about his mother, a widow lady, of strong character. In return Susan sketched the portraits of her

own familyEdith in particular, her youngest sister, whom she loved better than any one else, "except you,

Arthur. . . . Arthur," she continued, "what was it that you first liked me for?"

"It was a buckle you wore one night at sea," said Arthur, after due consideration. "I remember noticingit's

From this they went on to compare their more serious tastes, or rather Susan ascertained what Arthur cared

about, and professed herself very fond of the same thing. They would live in London, perhaps have a cottage

in the country near Susan's family, for they would find it strange without her at first. Her mind, stunned to

begin with, now flew to the various changes that her engagement would make how delightful it would be

to join the ranks of the married women no longer to hang on to groups of girls much younger than

herself to escape the long solitude of an old maid's life. Now and then her amazing good fortune overcame

They lay in each other's arms and had no notion that they were observed. Yet two figures suddenly appeared

among the trees above them. "Here's shade," began Hewet, when Rachel suddenly stopped dead. They saw a

man and woman lying on the ground beneath them, rolling slightly this way and that as the embrace tightened

and slackened. The man then sat upright and the woman, who now appeared to be Susan Warrington, lay

back upon the ground, with her eyes shut and an absorbed look upon her face, as though she were not

altogether conscious. Nor could you tell from her expression whether she was happy, or had suffered

something. When Arthur again turned to her, butting her as a lamb butts a ewe, Hewet and Rachel retreated

"I can remember not liking it either," said Hewet. "I can remember" but he changed his mind and

continued in an ordinary tone of voice, "Well, we may take it for granted that they're engaged. D'you think

But Rachel was still agitated; she could not get away from the sight they had just seen. Instead of answering

"It's so enormously important, you see," Hewet replied. "Their lives are now changed for ever."

"And it makes one sorry for them too," Rachel continued, as though she were tracing the course of her

feelings. "I don't know either of them, but I could almost burst into tears. That's silly, isn't it?"

"Just because they're in love," said Hewet. "Yes," he added after a moment's consideration, "there's

And now, as they had walked some way from the grove of trees, and had come to a rounded hollow very

tempting to the back, they proceeded to sit down, and the impression of the lovers lost some of its force,

though a certain intensity of vision, which was probably the result of the sight, remained with them. As a day

upon which any emotion has been repressed is different from other days, so this day was now different,

"A great encampment of tents they might be," said Hewet, looking in front of him at the mountains. "Isn't it

like a watercolour too you know the way watercolours dry in ridges all across the paper I've been

His eyes became dreamy, as though he were matching things, and reminded Rachel in their colour of the

green flesh of a snail. She sat beside him looking at the mountains too. When it became painful to look any

longer, the great size of the view seeming to enlarge her eyes beyond their natural limit, she looked at the

ground; it pleased her to scrutinise this inch of the soil of South America so minutely that she noticed every

grain of earth and made it into a world where she was endowed with the supreme power. She bent a blade of

grass, and set an insect on the utmost tassel of it, and wondered if the insect realised his strange adventure,

and thought how strange it was that she should have bent that tassel rather than any other of the million

"You've never told me you name," said Hewet suddenly. "Miss Somebody Vinrace. . . . I like to know

"Rachel," he repeated. "I have an aunt called Rachel, who put the life of Father Damien into verse. She is a

religious fanatic the result of the way she was brought up, down in Northamptonshire, never seeing a soul.

"They are probably buying wool," Rachel determined. She tried to describe them. "They are small, rather pale

women," she began, "very clean. We live in Richmond. They have an old dog, too, who will only eat the

marrow out of bones. . . . They are always going to church. They tidy their drawers a good deal." But here she

The sun was behind them and two long shadows suddenly lay upon the ground in front of them, one waving

because it was made by a skirt, and the other stationary, because thrown by a pair of legs in trousers.

"Hirst," said Hewet, pointing at the scissorlike shadow; he then rolled round to look up at them.

It appeared that, coming to the same spot a few minutes after Hewet and Rachel, Helen and Hirst had seen

"Well," said Hirst, pursing up his lips, "so long as I needn't marry either of them"

"I thought you would be," said Hirst. "Which was it, Monk? The thought of the immortal passions, or the

thought of newborn males to keep the Roman Catholics out? I assure you," he said to Helen, "he's capable

Rachel was a good deal stung by his banter, which she felt to be directed equally against them both, but she

"Nothing moves Hirst," Hewet laughed; he did not seem to be stung at all. "Unless it were a transfinite

number falling in love with a finite oneI suppose such things do happen, even in mathematics."

"On the contrary," said Hirst with a touch of annoyance, "I consider myself a person of very strong passions."

It was clear from the way he spoke that he meant it seriously; he spoke of course for the benefit of the ladies.

"By the way, Hirst," said Hewet, after a pause, "I have a terrible confession to make. Your bookthe poems

of Wordsworth, which if you remember I took off your table just as we were starting, and certainly put in my

"I consider that there is still a chance," Hewet urged, slapping himself to right and left, "that I never did take

"Thank God," Hewet exclaimed. "I need no longer feel as though I'd murdered a child!"

"I should think you were always losing things," Helen remarked, looking at him meditatively.

"I don't lose things," said Hewet. "I mislay them. That was the reason why Hirst refused to share a cabin with

"I propose that each member of this party now gives a short biographical sketch of himself or herself," said

Rachel stated that she was twentyfour years of age, the daughter of a shipowner, that she had never been

properly educated; played the piano, had no brothers or sisters, and lived at Richmond with aunts, her mother

"Next," said Hirst, having taken in these facts; he pointed at Hewet. "I am the son of an English gentleman. I

am twentyseven," Hewet began. "My father was a foxhunting squire. He died when I was ten in the

hunting field. I can remember his body coming home, on a shutter I suppose, just as I was going down to tea,

and noticing that there was jam for tea, and wondering whether I should be allowed"

"I was educated at Winchester and Cambridge, which I had to leave after a time. I have done a good many

"Is that all we're to hear about you?" said Helen. She stated that she was very oldforty last October, and her

father had been a solicitor in the city who had gone bankrupt, for which reason she had never had much

educationthey lived in one place after another but an elder brother used to lend her books.

"If I were to tell you everything" she stopped and smiled. "It would take too long," she concluded. "I

married when I was thirty, and I have two children. My husband is a scholar. And now it's your turn," she

"You've left out a great deal," he reproved her. "My name is St. John Alaric Hirst," he began in a jaunty tone

of voice. "I'm twentyfour years old. I'm the son of the Reverend Sidney Hirst, vicar of Great Wappyng in

Norfolk. Oh, I got scholarships everywhereWestminsterKing's. I'm now a fellow of King's. Don't it

sound dreary? Parents both alive (alas). Two brothers and one sister. I'm a very distinguished young man," he

"One of the three, or is it five, most distinguished men in England," Hewet remarked.

"That's all very interesting," said Helen after a pause. "But of course we've left out the only questions that

"You believe in a personal God?" Hirst demanded, turning round and fixing her with his eyeglasses.

"I believeI believe," Rachel stammered, "I believe there are things we don't know about, and the world

At this Helen laughed outright. "Nonsense," she said. "You're not a Christian. You've never thought what you

are.And there are lots of other questions," she continued, "though perhaps we can't ask them yet."

Although they had talked so freely they were all uncomfortably conscious that they really knew nothing

"The important questions," Hewet pondered, "the really interesting ones. I doubt that one ever does ask

Rachel, who was slow to accept the fact that only a very few things can be said even by people who know

"Whether we've ever been in love?" she enquired. "Is that the kind of question you mean?"

Again Helen laughed at her, benignantly strewing her with handfuls of the long tasselled grass, for she was so

"Oh, Rachel," she cried. "It's like having a puppy in the house having you with onea puppy that brings

But again the sunny earth in front of them was crossed by fantastic wavering figures, the shadows of men and

"There they are!" exclaimed Mrs. Elliot. There was a touch of peevishness in her voice. "And we've had

Mrs. Elliot and Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury now confronted them; Mrs. Elliot was holding out her watch, and

playfully tapping it upon the face. Hewet was recalled to the fact that this was a party for which he was

responsible, and he immediately led them back to the watchtower, where they were to have tea before

starting home again. A bright crimson scarf fluttered from the top of the wall, which Mr. Perrott and Evelyn

were tying to a stone as the others came up. The heat had changed just so far that instead of sitting in the

shadow they sat in the sun, which was still hot enough to paint their faces red and yellow, and to colour great

"Nothing," said Helen. "Can't you remember as a child chopping up hay" she spoke much more quickly

than usual, and kept her eye fixed upon Mrs. Thornbury, "and pretending it was tea, and getting scolded by

the nurseswhy I can't imagine, except that nurses are such brutes, won't allow pepper instead of salt though

During this speech Susan came into the group, and sat down by Helen's side. A few minutes later Mr.

Venning strolled up from the opposite direction. He was a little flushed, and in the mood to answer

"What have you been doing to that old chap's grave?" he asked, pointing to the red flag which floated from

"We have tried to make him forget his misfortune in having died three hundred years ago," said Mr. Perrott.

"To be dead?" said Hewet. "I don't think it would be awful. It's quite easy to imagine. When you go to bed

tonight fold your hands sobreathe slower and slower" He lay back with his hands clasped upon his

breast, and his eyes shut, "Now," he murmured in an even monotonous voice, "I shall never, never, never

"I assure you there's nothing horrible about it," said Hewet, sitting up and laying hands upon the cake.

"It's so natural," he repeated. "People with children should make them do that exercise every night. . . . Not

"And when you allude to a grave," said Mr. Thornbury, who spoke almost for the first time, "have you any

authority for calling that ruin a grave? I am quite with you in refusing to accept the common interpretation

which declares it to be the remains of an Elizabethan watchtower any more than I believe that the circular

mounds or barrows which we find on the top of our English downs were camps. The antiquaries call

everything a camp. I am always asking them, Well then, where do you think our ancestors kept their cattle?

Half the camps in England are merely the ancient pound or barton as we call it in my part of the world. The

argument that no one would keep his cattle in such exposed and inaccessible spots has no weight at all, if you

reflect that in those days a man's cattle were his capital, his stockintrade, his daughter's dowries. Without

cattle he was a serf, another man's man. . . ." His eyes slowly lost their intensity, and he muttered a few

Hughling Elliot, who might have been expected to engage the old gentleman in argument, was absent at the

moment. He now came up holding out a large square of cotton upon which a fine design was printed in

"A bargain," he announced, laying it down on the cloth. "I've just bought it from the big man with the

earrings. Fine, isn't it? It wouldn't suit every one, of course, but it's just the thing isn't it, Hilda?for

They looked at each other as though a mist hitherto obscuring their faces had been blown away.

"Ahyou have been to those wonderful parties too?" Mrs. Elliot asked with interest.

Mrs. Parry's drawingroom, though thousands of miles away, behind a vast curve of water on a tiny piece of

earth, came before their eyes. They who had had no solidity or anchorage before seemed to be attached to it

somehow, and at once grown more substantial. Perhaps they had been in the drawingroom at the same

moment; perhaps they had passed each other on the stairs; at any rate they knew some of the same people.

They looked one another up and down with new interest. But they could do no more than look at each other,

for there was no time to enjoy the fruits of the discovery. The donkeys were advancing, and it was advisable

to begin the descent immediately, for the night fell so quickly that it would be dark before they were home

Accordingly, remounting in order, they filed off down the hillside. Scraps of talk came floating back from

one to another. There were jokes to begin with, and laughter; some walked part of the way, and picked

"Who writes the best Latin verse in your college, Hirst?" Mr. Elliot called back incongruously, and Mr. Hirst

The dusk fell as suddenly as the natives had warned them, the hollows of the mountain on either side filling

up with darkness and the path becoming so dim that it was surprising to hear the donkeys' hooves still

striking on hard rock. Silence fell upon one, and then upon another, until they were all silent, their minds

spilling out into the deep blue air. The way seemed shorter in the dark than in the day; and soon the lights of

In a moment the slow yellow drop rose again from the plain below; it rose, paused, opened like a flower, and

Another went up more quickly; and then another; they could almost hear it twist and roar.

"Some Saint's day, I suppose," said a voice. The rush and embrace of the rockets as they soared up into the air

seemed like the fiery way in which lovers suddenly rose and united, leaving the crowd gazing up at them with

strained white faces. But Susan and Arthur, riding down the hill, never said a word to each other, and kept

Then the fireworks became erratic, and soon they ceased altogether, and the rest of the journey was made

almost in darkness, the mountain being a great shadow behind them, and bushes and trees little shadows

which threw darkness across the road. Among the planetrees they separated, bundling into carriages and

It was so late that there was no time for normal conversation between their arrival at the hotel and their

retirement to bed. But Hirst wandered into Hewet's room with a collar in his hand.

"Well, Hewet," he remarked, on the crest of a gigantic yawn, "that was a great success, I consider." He

yawned. "But take care you're not landed with that young woman. . . . I don't really like young women. . . ."

Hewet was too much drugged by hours in the open air to make any reply. In fact every one of the party was

sound asleep within ten minutes or so of each other, with the exception of Susan Warrington. She lay for a

considerable time looking blankly at the wall opposite, her hands clasped above her heart, and her light

burning by her side. All articulate thought had long ago deserted her; her heart seemed to have grown to the

size of a sun, and to illuminate her entire body, shedding like the sun a steady tide of warmth.

When Susan's engagement had been approved at home, and made public to any one who took an interest in it

at the hoteland by this time the society at the hotel was divided so as to point to invisible chalkmarks

such as Mr. Hirst had described, the news was felt to justify some celebrationan expedition? That had been

done already. A dance then. The advantage of a dance was that it abolished one of those long evenings which

Two or three people standing under the erect body of the stuffed leopard in the hall very soon had the matter

decided. Evelyn slid a pace or two this way and that, and pronounced that the floor was excellent. Signor

Rodriguez informed them of an old Spaniard who fiddled at weddingsfiddled so as to make a tortoise

waltz; and his daughter, although endowed with eyes as black as coalscuttles, had the same power over the

piano. If there were any so sick or so surly as to prefer sedentary occupations on the night in question to

spinning and watching others spin, the drawingroom and billiardroom were theirs. Hewet made it his

business to conciliate the outsiders as much as possible. To Hirst's theory of the invisible chalkmarks he

would pay no attention whatever. He was treated to a snub or two, but, in reward, found obscure lonely

gentlemen delighted to have this opportunity of talking to their kind, and the lady of doubtful character

showed every symptom of confiding her case to him in the near future. Indeed it was made quite obvious to

him that the two or three hours between dinner and bed contained an amount of unhappiness, which was

It was settled that the dance was to be on Friday, one week after the engagement, and at dinner Hewet

"They're all coming!" he told Hirst. "Pepper!" he called, seeing William Pepper slip past in the wake of the

"You are to take the floor with Miss Allan," Hewet continued, consulting a sheet of pencilled notes.

Pepper stopped and began a discourse upon round dances, country dances, morris dances, and quadrilles, all

of which are entirely superior to the bastard waltz and spurious polka which have ousted them most unjustly

in contemporary popularitywhen the waiters gently pushed him on to his table in the corner.

The diningroom at this moment had a certain fantastic resemblance to a farmyard scattered with grain on

which bright pigeons kept descending. Almost all the ladies wore dresses which they had not yet displayed,

and their hair rose in waves and scrolls so as to appear like carved wood in Gothic churches rather than hair.

The dinner was shorter and less formal than usual, even the waiters seeming to be affected with the general

excitement. Ten minutes before the clock struck nine the committee made a tour through the ballroom. The

hall, when emptied of its furniture, brilliantly lit, adorned with flowers whose scent tinged the air, presented a

"It's like a starlit sky on an absolutely cloudless night," Hewet murmured, looking about him, at the airy

"A heavenly floor, anyhow," Evelyn added, taking a run and sliding two or three feet along.

"What about those curtains?" asked Hirst. The crimson curtains were drawn across the long windows. "It's a

"Yes, but curtains inspire confidence," Miss Allan decided. "When the ball is in full swing it will be time to

draw them. We might even open the windows a little. . . . If we do it now elderly people will imagine there

Her wisdom had come to be recognised, and held in respect. Meanwhile as they stood talking, the musicians

were unwrapping their instruments, and the violin was repeating again and again a note struck upon the

After a few minutes' pause, the father, the daughter, and the soninlaw who played the horn flourished with

one accord. Like the rats who followed the piper, heads instantly appeared in the doorway. There was another

flourish; and then the trio dashed spontaneously into the triumphant swing of the waltz. It was as though the

room were instantly flooded with water. After a moment's hesitation first one couple, then another, leapt into

midstream, and went round and round in the eddies. The rhythmic swish of the dancers sounded like a

swirling pool. By degrees the room grew perceptibly hotter. The smell of kid gloves mingled with the strong

scent of flowers. The eddies seemed to circle faster and faster, until the music wrought itself into a crash,

ceased, and the circles were smashed into little separate bits. The couples struck off in different directions,

leaving a thin row of elderly people stuck fast to the walls, and here and there a piece of trimming or a

handkerchief or a flower lay upon the floor. There was a pause, and then the music started again, the eddies

whirled, the couples circled round in them, until there was a crash, and the circles were broken up into

When this had happened about five times, Hirst, who leant against a windowframe, like some singular

gargoyle, perceived that Helen Ambrose and Rachel stood in the doorway. The crowd was such that they

could not move, but he recognised them by a piece of Helen's shoulder and a glimpse of Rachel's head

Hewet and Miss Allan, who had been waltzing somewhat laboriously, paused and greeted the newcomers.

"Pindar," said Helen. "May a married woman who was forty in October dance? I can't stand still." She

"We must follow suit," said Hirst to Rachel, and he took her resolutely by the elbow. Rachel, without being

expert, danced well, because of a good ear for rhythm, but Hirst had no taste for music, and a few dancing

lessons at Cambridge had only put him into possession of the anatomy of a waltz, without imparting any of

its spirit. A single turn proved to them that their methods were incompatible; instead of fitting into each other

their bones seemed to jut out in angles making smooth turning an impossibility, and cutting, moreover, into

"Shall we stop?" said Hirst. Rachel gathered from his expression that he was annoyed.

They staggered to seats in the corner, from which they had a view of the room. It was still surging, in waves

"An amazing spectacle," Hirst remarked. "Do you dance much in London?" They were both breathing fast,

and both a little excited, though each was determined not to show any excitement at all.

"This isn't half a bad floor," Rachel said. Hirst did not attempt to answer her platitude. He sat quite silent,

staring at the dancers. After three minutes the silence became so intolerable to Rachel that she was goaded to

advance another commonplace about the beauty of the night. Hirst interrupted her ruthlessly.

"Was that all nonsense what you said the other day about being a Christian and having no education?" he

"It was practically true," she replied. "But I also play the piano very well," she said, "better, I expect than any

one in this room. You are the most distinguished man in England, aren't you?" she asked shyly.

They were again silent. Rachel was wondering whether he thought her also nicelooking; St. John was

considering the immense difficulty of talking to girls who had no experience of life. Rachel had obviously

never thought or felt or seen anything, and she might be intelligent or she might be just like all the rest. But

Hewet's taunt rankled in his mind"you don't know how to get on with women," and he was determined to

profit by this opportunity. Her eveningclothes bestowed on her just that degree of unreality and distinction

which made it romantic to speak to her, and stirred a desire to talk, which irritated him because he did not

know how to begin. He glanced at her, and she seemed to him very remote and inexplicable, very young and

"I haven't read many classics," Rachel stated. She was slightly annoyed by his jaunty and rather unnatural

manner, while his masculine acquirements induced her to take a very modest view of her own power.

"D'you mean to tell me you've reached the age of twentyfour without reading Gibbon?" he demanded.

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, throwing out his hands. "You must begin tomorrow. I shall send you my copy.

What I want to know is" he looked at her critically. "You see, the problem is, can one really talk to you?

Have you got a mind, or are you like the rest of your sex? You seem to me absurdly young compared with

"About Gibbon," he continued. "D'you think you'll be able to appreciate him? He's the test, of course. It's

awfully difficult to tell about women," he continued, "how much, I mean, is due to lack of training, and how

much is native incapacity. I don't see myself why you shouldn't understandonly I suppose you've led an

absurd life until nowyou've just walked in a crocodile, I suppose, with your hair down your back."

The music was again beginning. Hirst's eye wandered about the room in search of Mrs. Ambrose. With the

best will in the world he was conscious that they were not getting on well together.

"I'd like awfully to lend you books," he said, buttoning his gloves, and rising from his seat. "We shall meet

Rachel looked round. She felt herself surrounded, like a child at a party, by the faces of strangers all hostile to

her, with hooked noses and sneering, indifferent eyes. She was by a window, she pushed it open with a jerk.

"Damn that man!" she exclaimed, having acquired some of Helen's words. "Damn his insolence!"

She stood in the middle of the pale square of light which the window she had opened threw upon the grass.

The forms of great black trees rose massively in front of her. She stood still, looking at them, shivering

slightly with anger and excitement. She heard the trampling and swinging of the dancers behind her, and the

"There are trees," she said aloud. Would the trees make up for St. John Hirst? She would be a Persian

princess far from civilisation, riding her horse upon the mountains alone, and making her women sing to her

in the evening, far from all this, from the strife and men and womena form came out of the shadow; a little

"Miss Vinrace, is it?" said Hewet, peering at her. "You were dancing with Hirst?"

"He's made me furious!" she cried vehemently. "No one's any right to be insolent!"

"Insolent?" Hewet repeated, taking his cigar from his mouth in surprise. "Hirstinsolent?"

"It's insolent to" said Rachel, and stopped. She did not know exactly why she had been made so angry.

"Oh, well," she added, the vision of Helen and her mockery before her, "I dare say I'm a fool." She made as

When Rachel tried to explain, she found it very difficult. She could not say that she found the vision of

herself walking in a crocodile with her hair down her back peculiarly unjust and horrible, nor could she

explain why Hirst's assumption of the superiority of his nature and experience had seemed to her not only

galling but terribleas if a gate had clanged in her face. Pacing up and down the terrace beside Hewet she

"It's no good; we should live separate; we cannot understand each other; we only bring out what's worst."

Hewet brushed aside her generalisation as to the natures of the two sexes, for such generalisations bored him

and seemed to him generally untrue. But, knowing Hirst, he guessed fairly accurately what had happened,

and, though secretly much amused, was determined that Rachel should not store the incident away in her

"Now you'll hate him," he said, "which is wrong. Poor old Hirst he can't help his method. And really, Miss

Vinrace, he was doing his best; he was paying you a complimenthe was tryinghe was trying" he

Rachel veered round suddenly and laughed out too. She saw that there was something ridiculous about Hirst,

"It's his way of making friends, I suppose," she laughed. "WellI shall do my part. I shall begin'Ugly in

"Hear, hear!" cried Hewet. "That's the way to treat him. You see, Miss Vinrace, you must make allowances

for Hirst. He's lived all his life in front of a lookingglass, so to speak, in a beautiful panelled room, hung

with Japanese prints and lovely old chairs and tables, just one splash of colour, you know, in the right

place, between the windows I think it is,and there he sits hour after hour with his toes on the fender,

talking about philosophy and God and his liver and his heart and the hearts of his friends. They're all broken.

You can't expect him to be at his best in a ballroom. He wants a cosy, smoky, masculine place, where he can

stretch his legs out, and only speak when he's got something to say. For myself, I find it rather dreary. But I

do respect it. They're all so much in earnest. They do take the serious things very seriously."

The description of Hirst's way of life interested Rachel so much that she almost forgot her private grudge

"Of course they are. So far as brains go I think it's true what he said the other day; they're the cleverest people

in England. But you ought to take him in hand," he added. "There's a great deal more in him than's ever

been got at. He wants some one to laugh at him. . . . The idea of Hirst telling you that you've had no

They had been pacing up and down the terrace while they talked, and now one by one the dark windows were

uncurtained by an invisible hand, and panes of light fell regularly at equal intervals upon the grass. They

stopped to look in at the drawingroom, and perceived Mr. Pepper writing alone at a table.

"There's Pepper writing to his aunt," said Hewet. "She must be a very remarkable old lady, eightyfive he

tells me, and he takes her for walking tours in the New Forest. . . . Pepper!" he cried, rapping on the window.

When they came to the windows of the ballroom, the swing of the dancers and the lilt of the music was

"Shall we?" said Hewet, and they clasped hands and swept off magnificently into the great swirling pool.

Although this was only the second time they had met, the first time they had seen a man and woman kissing

each other, and the second time Mr. Hewet had found that a young woman angry is very like a child. So that

It was midnight and the dance was now at its height. Servants were peeping in at the windows; the garden

was sprinkled with the white shapes of couples sitting out. Mrs. Thornbury and Mrs. Elliot sat side by side

under a palm tree, holding fans, handkerchiefs, and brooches deposited in their laps by flushed maidens.

"Miss Warrington _does_ look happy," said Mrs. Elliot; they both smiled; they both sighed.

"And character is what one wants," said Mrs. Elliot. "Now that young man is _clever_ enough," she added,

"He does not look strong," said Mrs. Thornbury. "His complexion is not good.Shall I tear it off?" she

"This is a very familiar position for me!" smiled Mrs. Thornbury. "I have brought out five daughtersand

they all loved dancing! You love it too, Miss Vinrace?" she asked, looking at Rachel with maternal eyes. "I

know I did when I was your age. How I used to beg my mother to let me stayand now I sympathise with

"They seem to find a great deal to say to each other," said Mrs. Elliot, looking significantly at the backs of the

couple as they turned away. "Did you notice at the picnic? He was the only person who could make her

"Her father is a very interesting man," said Mrs. Thornbury. "He has one of the largest shipping businesses in

Hull. He made a very able reply, you remember, to Mr. Asquith at the last election. It is so interesting to find

She would have liked to discuss politics, which interested her more than personalities, but Mrs. Elliot would

"I hear there are dreadful accounts from England about the rats," she said. "A sisterinlaw, who lives at

Norwich, tells me it has been quite unsafe to order poultry. The plagueyou see. It attacks the rats, and

"That she does not say. But she describes the attitude of the educated peoplewho should know betteras

callous in the extreme. Of course, my sisterinlaw is one of those active modern women, who always takes

things up, you knowthe kind of woman one admires, though one does not feel, at least I do not feelbut

Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy, here sighed.

"A very animated face," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. who had stopped near them to pin tight a

scarlet flower at her breast. It would not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience, she thrust it into her

partner's buttonhole. He was a tall melancholy youth, who received the gift as a knight might receive his

"Very trying to the eyes," was Mrs. Eliot's next remark, after watching the yellow whirl in which so few of

the whirlers had either name or character for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd, Helen

"May I sit by you?" she said, smiling and breathing fast. "I suppose I ought to be ashamed of myself," she

Her beauty, now that she was flushed and animated, was more expansive than usual, and both the ladies felt

"I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one is a good dancer," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking

"I could dance for ever!" she said. "They ought to let themselves go more!" she exclaimed. "They ought to

"Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?" began Mrs. Elliot. But Helen saw her partner coming and

rose as the moon rises. She was half round the room before they took their eyes off her, for they could not

help admiring her, although they thought it a little odd that a woman of her age should enjoy dancing.

Directly Helen was left alone for a minute she was joined by St. John Hirst, who had been watching for an

"Should you mind sitting out with me?" he asked. "I'm quite incapable of dancing." He piloted Helen to a

corner which was supplied with two armchairs, and thus enjoyed the advantage of semiprivacy. They sat

down, and for a few minutes Helen was too much under the influence of dancing to speak.

"Astonishing!" she exclaimed at last. "What sort of shape can she think her body is?" This remark was called

forth by a lady who came past them, waddling rather than walking, and leaning on the arm of a stout man

with globular green eyes set in a fat white face. Some support was necessary, for she was very stout, and so

compressed that the upper part of her body hung considerably in advance of her feet, which could only trip in

tiny steps, owing to the tightness of the skirt round her ankles. The dress itself consisted of a small piece of

shiny yellow satin, adorned here and there indiscriminately with round shields of blue and green beads made

to imitate hues of a peacock's breast. On the summit of a frothy castle of hair a purple plume stood erect,

while her short neck was encircled by a black velvet ribbon knobbed with gems, and golden bracelets were

tightly wedged into the flesh of her fat gloved arms. She had the face of an impertinent but jolly little pig,

"It makes me sick," he declared. "The whole thing makes me sick. . . . Consider the minds of those

"I always make a vow never to go to another party of any description," Helen replied, "and I always break it."

She leant back in her chair and looked laughingly at the young man. She could see that he was genuinely

"However," he said, resuming his jaunty tone, "I suppose one must just make up one's mind to it."

Slowly the flush and sparkle in Helen's face died away, and she looked as quiet and as observant as usual.

"You've been very fortunate, then," said Hirst. "Or perhaps I've been very unfortunate." He became silent.

"Should you say I was a difficult kind of person to get on with?" he asked sharply.

"And of course I amimmensely clever," said Hirst. "I'm infinitely cleverer than Hewet. It's quite possible,"

he continued in his curiously impersonal manner, "that I'm going to be one of the people who really matter.

That's utterly different from being clever, though one can't expect one's family to see it," he added bitterly.

Helen thought herself justified in asking, "Do you find your family difficult to get on with?"

"Intolerable. . . . They want me to be a peer and a privy councillor. I've come out here partly in order to settle

the matter. It's got to be settled. Either I must go to the bar, or I must stay on in Cambridge. Of course, there

are obvious drawbacks to each, but the arguments certainly do seem to me in favour of Cambridge. This kind

of thing!" he waved his hand at the crowded ballroom. "Repulsive. I'm conscious of great powers of affection

too. I'm not susceptible, of course, in the way Hewet is. I'm very fond of a few people. I think, for example,

that there's something to be said for my mother, though she is in many ways so deplorable. . . . At Cambridge,

of course, I should inevitably become the most important man in the place, but there are other reasons why I

"Are you finding me a dreadful bore?" he asked. He changed curiously from a friend confiding in a friend to

"You can't think," he exclaimed, speaking almost with emotion, "what a difference it makes finding someone

to talk to! Directly I saw you I felt you might possibly understand me. I'm very fond of Hewet, but he hasn't

the remotest idea what I'm like. You're the only woman I've ever met who seems to have the faintest

The next dance was beginning; it was the Barcarolle out of Hoffman, which made Helen beat her toe in time

to it; but she felt that after such a compliment it was impossible to get up and go, and, besides being amused,

she was really flattered, and the honesty of his conceit attracted her. She suspected that he was not happy, and

"The odd thing is that I don't find you old at all," he replied. "I feel as though we were exactly the same age.

Moreover" here he hesitated, but took courage from a glance at her face, "I feel as if I could talk quite

plainly to you as one does to a man about the relations between the sexes, about . . . and . . ."

In spite of his certainty a slight redness came into his face as he spoke the last two words.

She reassured him at once by the laugh with which she exclaimed, "I should hope so!"

He looked at her with real cordiality, and the lines which were drawn about his nose and lips slackened for

Certainly a barrier which usually stands fast had fallen, and it was possible to speak of matters which are

generally only alluded to between men and women when doctors are present, or the shadow of death. In five

minutes he was telling her the history of his life. It was long, for it was full of extremely elaborate incidents,

which led on to a discussion of the principles on which morality is founded, and thus to several very

interesting matters, which even in this ballroom had to be discussed in a whisper, lest one of the pouter

pigeon ladies or resplendent merchants should overhear them, and proceed to demand that they should leave

the place. When they had come to an end, or, to speak more accurately, when Helen intimated by a slight

slackening of her attention that they had sat there long enough, Hirst rose, exclaiming, "So there's no reason

"None, except that we are English people," she answered. She took his arm and they crossed the ballroom,

making their way with difficulty between the spinning couples, who were now perceptibly dishevelled, and

certainly to a critical eye by no means lovely in their shapes. The excitement of undertaking a friendship and

the length of their talk, made them hungry, and they went in search of food to the diningroom, which was

now full of people eating at little separate tables. In the doorway they met Rachel, going up to dance again

with Arthur Venning. She was flushed and looked very happy, and Helen was struck by the fact that in this

mood she was certainly more attractive than the generality of young women. She had never noticed it so

"Miss Vinrace," Arthur answered for her, "has just made a confession; she'd no idea that dances could be so

"That's typical of Rachel," she said. "She changes her view of life about every other day. D'you know, I

believe you're just the person I want," she said, as they sat down, "to help me complete her education? She's

been brought up practically in a nunnery. Her father's too absurd. I've been doing what I canbut I'm too

old, and I'm a woman. Why shouldn't you talk to herexplain things to hertalk to her, I mean, as you talk

"I have made one attempt already this evening," said St. John. "I rather doubt that it was successful. She

seems to me so very young and inexperienced. I have promised to lend her Gibbon."

"It's not Gibbon exactly," Helen pondered. "It's the facts of life, I thinkd'you see what I mean? What really

goes on, what people feel, although they generally try to hide it? There's nothing to be frightened of. It's so

much more beautiful than the pretences always more interestingalways better, I should say, than _that_

She nodded her head at a table near them, where two girls and two young men were chaffing each other very

loudly, and carrying on an arch insinuating dialogue, sprinkled with endearments, about, it seemed, a pair of

stockings or a pair of legs. One of the girls was flirting a fan and pretending to be shocked, and the sight was

very unpleasant, partly because it was obvious that the girls were secretly hostile to each other.

"In my old age, however," Helen sighed, "I'm coming to think that it doesn't much matter in the long run what

one does: people always go their own waynothing will ever influence them." She nodded her head at the

But St. John did not agree. He said that he thought one could really make a great deal of difference by one's

point of view, books and so on, and added that few things at the present time mattered more than the

enlightenment of women. He sometimes thought that almost everything was due to education.

In the ballroom, meanwhile, the dancers were being formed into squares for the lancers. Arthur and Rachel,

"Pope!" snorted Mr. Elliot. "Who reads Pope, I should like to know? And as for reading about himNo, no,

Miss Allan; be persuaded you will benefit the world much more by dancing than by writing." It was one of

Mr. Elliot's affectations that nothing in the world could compare with the delights of dancingnothing in the

world was so tedious as literature. Thus he sought pathetically enough to ingratiate himself with the young,

and to prove to them beyond a doubt that though married to a ninny of a wife, and rather pale and bent and

careworn by his weight of learning, he was as much alive as the youngest of them all.

"It's a question of bread and butter," said Miss Allan calmly. "However, they seem to expect me." She took

"Mr. Hewet, you bow to me." It was evident at once that Miss Allan was the only one of them who had a

After the lancers there was a waltz; after the waltz a polka; and then a terrible thing happened; the music,

which had been sounding regularly with fiveminute pauses, stopped suddenly. The lady with the great dark

eyes began to swathe her violin in silk, and the gentleman placed his horn carefully in its case. They were

surrounded by couples imploring them in English, in French, in Spanish, of one more dance, one only; it was

still early. But the old man at the piano merely exhibited his watch and shook his head. He turned up the

collar of his coat and produced a red silk muffler, which completely dashed his festive appearance. Strange as

it seemed, the musicians were pale and heavyeyed; they looked bored and prosaic, as if the summit of their

Rachel was one of those who had begged them to continue. When they refused she began turning over the

sheets of dance music which lay upon the piano. The pieces were generally bound in coloured covers, with

pictures on them of romantic scenesgondoliers astride on the crescent of the moon, nuns peering through

the bars of a convent window, or young women with their hair down pointing a gun at the stars. She

remembered that the general effect of the music to which they had danced so gaily was one of passionate

regret for dead love and the innocent years of youth; dreadful sorrows had always separated the dancers from

"No wonder they get sick of playing stuff like this," she remarked reading a bar or two; "they're really hymn

"Do you play? Would you play? Anything, so long as we can dance to it!" From all sides her gift for playing

the piano was insisted upon, and she had to consent. As very soon she had played the only pieces of dance

"It is," she replied, emphatically nodding her head. "Invent the steps." Sure of her melody she marked the

rhythm boldly so as to simplify the way. Helen caught the idea; seized Miss Allan by the arm, and whirled

round the room, now curtseying, now spinning round, now tripping this way and that like a child skipping

"This is the dance for people who don't know how to dance!" she cried. The tune changed to a minuet; St.

John hopped with incredible swiftness first on his left leg, then on his right; the tune flowed melodiously;

Hewet, swaying his arms and holding out the tails of his coat, swam down the room in imitation of the

voluptuous dreamy dance of an Indian maiden dancing before her Rajah. The tune marched; and Miss Allen

advanced with skirts extended and bowed profoundly to the engaged pair. Once their feet fell in with the

rhythm they showed a complete lack of selfconsciousness. From Mozart Rachel passed without stopping to

old English hunting songs, carols, and hymn tunes, for, as she had observed, any good tune, with a little

management, became a tune one could dance to. By degrees every person in the room was tripping and

turning in pairs or alone. Mr. Pepper executed an ingenious pointed step derived from figureskating, for

which he once held some local championship; while Mrs. Thornbury tried to recall an old country dance

which she had seen danced by her father's tenants in Dorsetshire in the old days. As for Mr. and Mrs. Elliot,

they gallopaded round and round the room with such impetuosity that the other dancers shivered at their

approach. Some people were heard to criticise the performance as a romp; to others it was the most enjoyable

"Now for the great round dance!" Hewet shouted. Instantly a gigantic circle was formed, the dancers holding

hands and shouting out, "D'you ken John Peel," as they swung faster and faster and faster, until the strain was

too great, and one link of the chain Mrs. Thornburygave way, and the rest went flying across the room

in all directions, to land upon the floor or the chairs or in each other's arms as seemed most convenient.

Rising from these positions, breathless and unkempt, it struck them for the first time that the electric lights

pricked the air very vainly, and instinctively a great many eyes turned to the windows. Yesthere was the

dawn. While they had been dancing the night had passed, and it had come. Outside, the mountains showed

very pure and remote; the dew was sparkling on the grass, and the sky was flushed with blue, save for the

pale yellows and pinks in the East. The dancers came crowding to the windows, pushed them open, and here

"How silly the poor old lights look!" said Evelyn M. in a curiously subdued tone of voice. "And ourselves; it

isn't becoming." It was true; the untidy hair, and the green and yellow gems, which had seemed so festive half

an hour ago, now looked cheap and slovenly. The complexions of the elder ladies suffered terribly, and, as if

conscious that a cold eye had been turned upon them, they began to say goodnight and to make their way up

Rachel, though robbed of her audience, had gone on playing to herself. From John Peel she passed to Bach,

who was at this time the subject of her intense enthusiasm, and one by one some of the younger dancers came

in from the garden and sat upon the deserted gilt chairs round the piano, the room being now so clear that

they turned out the lights. As they sat and listened, their nerves were quieted; the heat and soreness of their

lips, the result of incessant talking and laughing, was smoothed away. They sat very still as if they saw a

building with spaces and columns succeeding each other rising in the empty space. Then they began to see

themselves and their lives, and the whole of human life advancing very nobly under the direction of the

music. They felt themselves ennobled, and when Rachel stopped playing they desired nothing but sleep.

Susan rose. "I think this has been the happiest night of my life!" she exclaimed. "I do adore music," she said,

as she thanked Rachel. "It just seems to say all the things one can't say oneself." She gave a nervous little

laugh and looked from one to another with great benignity, as though she would like to say something but

could not find the words in which to express it. "Every one's been so kind so very kind," she said. Then she

The party having ended in the very abrupt way in which parties do end, Helen and Rachel stood by the door

"I suppose you realise that there are no carriages left?" said St. John, who had been out to look. "You must

"May we come too?" Hewet asked. "We can't go to bed. Imagine lying among bolsters and looking at one's

washstand on a morning like this Is that where you live?" They had begun to walk down the avenue, and

he turned and pointed at the white and green villa on the hillside, which seemed to have its eyes shut.

"It's the sun," said St. John. The upper windows had each a spot of gold on them.

"I was afraid it was my husband, still reading Greek," she said. "All this time he's been editing _Pindar_."

They passed through the town and turned up the steep road, which was perfectly clear, though still

unbordered by shadows. Partly because they were tired, and partly because the early light subdued them, they

scarcely spoke, but breathed in the delicious fresh air, which seemed to belong to a different state of life from

the air at midday. When they came to the high yellow wall, where the lane turned off from the road, Helen

"Let's sit down a moment," said Hewet. He spread his coat on the ground. "Let's sit down and consider." They

sat down and looked out over the bay; it was very still, the sea was rippling faintly, and lines of green and

blue were beginning to stripe it. There were no sailing boats as yet, but a steamer was anchored in the bay,

looking very ghostly in the mist; it gave one unearthly cry, and then all was silent.

Rachel occupied herself in collecting one grey stone after another and building them into a little cairn; she did

Rachel added another stone and yawned. "I don't remember," she said, "I feel like a fish at the bottom of the

sea." She yawned again. None of these people possessed any power to frighten her out here in the dawn, and

"My brain, on the contrary," said Hirst, "is in a condition of abnormal activity." He sat in his favourite

position with his arms binding his legs together and his chin resting on the top of his knees. "I see through

everythingabsolutely everything. Life has no more mysteries for me." He spoke with conviction, but did

not appear to wish for an answer. Near though they sat, and familiar though they felt, they seemed mere

"And all those people down there going to sleep," Hewet began dreamily, "thinking such different

things,Miss Warrington, I suppose, is now on her knees; the Elliots are a little startled, it's not often _they_

get out of breath, and they want to get to sleep as quickly as possible; then there's the poor lean young man

who danced all night with Evelyn; he's putting his flower in water and asking himself, 'Is this love?'and

poor old Perrott, I daresay, can't get to sleep at all, and is reading his favourite Greek book to console

"I have a key," said Hirst cryptically. His chin was still upon his knees and his eyes fixed in front of him.

A silence followed. Then Helen rose and bade them goodnight. "But," she said, "remember that you've got

They waved goodnight and parted, but the two young men did not go back to the hotel; they went for a

walk, during which they scarcely spoke, and never mentioned the names of the two women, who were, to a

considerable extent, the subject of their thoughts. They did not wish to share their impressions. They returned

There were many rooms in the villa, but one room which possessed a character of its own because the door

was always shut, and no sound of music or laughter issued from it. Every one in the house was vaguely

conscious that something went on behind that door, and without in the least knowing what it was, were

influenced in their own thoughts by the knowledge that if the passed it the door would be shut, and if they

made a noise Mr. Ambrose inside would be disturbed. Certain acts therefore possessed merit, and others were

bad, so that life became more harmonious and less disconnected than it would have been had Mr. Ambrose

given up editing _Pindar_, and taken to a nomad existence, in and out of every room in the house. As it was,

every one was conscious that by observing certain rules, such as punctuality and quiet, by cooking well, and

performing other small duties, one ode after another was satisfactorily restored to the world, and they shared

the continuity of the scholar's life. Unfortunately, as age puts one barrier between human beings, and learning

another, and sex a third, Mr. Ambrose in his study was some thousand miles distant from the nearest human

being, who in this household was inevitably a woman. He sat hour after hour among whiteleaved books,

alone like an idol in an empty church, still except for the passage of his hand from one side of the sheet to

another, silent save for an occasional choke, which drove him to extend his pipe a moment in the air. As he

worked his way further and further into the heart of the poet, his chair became more and more deeply

encircled by books, which lay open on the floor, and could only be crossed by a careful process of stepping,

so delicate that his visitors generally stopped and addressed him from the outskirts.

On the morning after the dance, however, Rachel came into her uncle's room and hailed him twice, "Uncle

"I want a book," she replied. "Gibbon's _History_ _of_ _the_ _Roman_ _Empire_. May I have it?"

She watched the lines on her uncle's face gradually rearrange themselves at her question. It had been smooth

"Please say that again," said her uncle, either because he had not heard or because he had not understood.

"But I don't travel about with a miscellaneous collection of eighteenthcentury historians!" her uncle

"Stop!" cried her uncle. He put down his pipe, placed his book on one side, and rose and led her slowly round

the room, holding her by the arm. "Plato," he said, laying one finger on the first of a row of small dark books,

"and Jorrocks next door, which is wrong. Sophocles, Swift. You don't care for German commentators, I

presume. French, then. You read French? You should read Balzac. Then we come to Wordsworth and

Coleridge, Pope, Johnson, Addison, Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats. One thing leads to another. Why is

Marlowe here? Mrs. Chailey, I presume. But what's the use of reading if you don't read Greek? After all, if

you read Greek, you need never read anything else, pure waste of timepure waste of time," thus speaking

half to himself, with quick movements of his hands; they had come round again to the circle of books on the

"Balzac," said Rachel, "or have you the _Speech_ _on_ _the_ _American_ _Revolution_, Uncle Ridley?"

"_The_ _Speech_ _on_ _the_ _American_ _Revolution_?" he asked. He looked at her very keenly again.

She chose for herself a volume at random, submitted it to her uncle, who, seeing that it was _La_ _Cousine_

_bette_, bade her throw it away if she found it too horrible, and was about to leave him when he demanded

He then wanted to know what people did at dances, seeing that he had only been to one thirtyfive years ago,

when nothing had seemed to him more meaningless and idiotic. Did they enjoy turning round and round to

the screech of a fiddle? Did they talk, and say pretty things, and if so, why didn't they do it, under reasonable

conditions? As for himselfhe sighed and pointed at the signs of industry lying all about him, which, in

spite of his sigh, filled his face with such satisfaction that his niece thought good to leave. On bestowing a

kiss she was allowed to go, but not until she had bound herself to learn at any rate the Greek alphabet, and to

return her French novel when done with, upon which something more suitable would be found for her.

As the rooms in which people live are apt to give off something of the same shock as their faces when seen

for the first time, Rachel walked very slowly downstairs, lost in wonder at her uncle, and his books, and his

neglect of dances, and his queer, utterly inexplicable, but apparently satisfactory view of life, when her eye

was caught by a note with her name on it lying in the hall. The address was written in a small strong hand

I send the first volume of Gibbon as I promised. Personally I find little to be said for the moderns, but I'm

going to send you Wedekind when I've done him. Donne? Have you read Webster and all that set? I envy you

reading them for the first time. Completely exhausted after last night. And you?

The flourish of initials which she took to be St. J. A. H., wound up the letter. She was very much flattered

that Mr. Hirst should have remembered her, and fulfilled his promise so quickly.

There was still an hour to luncheon, and with Gibbon in one hand, and Balzac in the other she strolled out of

the gate and down the little path of beaten mud between the olive trees on the slope of the hill. It was too hot

for climbing hills, but along the valley there were trees and a grass path running by the river bed. In this land

where the population was centred in the towns it was possible to lose sight of civilisation in a very short time,

passing only an occasional farmhouse, where the women were handling red roots in the courtyard; or a little

boy lying on his elbows on the hillside surrounded by a flock of black strongsmelling goats. Save for a

thread of water at the bottom, the river was merely a deep channel of dry yellow stones. On the bank grew

those trees which Helen had said it was worth the voyage out merely to see. April had burst their buds, and

they bore large blossoms among their glossy green leaves with petals of a thick waxlike substance coloured

an exquisite cream or pink or deep crimson. But filled with one of those unreasonable exultations which start

generally from an unknown cause, and sweep whole countries and skies into their embrace, she walked

without seeing. The night was encroaching upon the day. Her ears hummed with the tunes she had played the

night before; she sang, and the singing made her walk faster and faster. She did not see distinctly where she

was going, the trees and the landscape appearing only as masses of green and blue, with an occasional space

of differently coloured sky. Faces of people she had seen last night came before her; she heard their voices;

she stopped singing, and began saying things over again or saying things differently, or inventing things that

might have been said. The constraint of being among strangers in a long silk dress made it unusually exciting

to stride thus alone. Hewet, Hirst, Mr. Venning, Miss Allan, the music, the light, the dark trees in the garden,

the dawn,as she walked they went surging round in her head, a tumultuous background from which the

present moment, with its opportunity of doing exactly as she liked, sprung more wonderfully vivid even than

So she might have walked until she had lost all knowledge of her way, had it not been for the interruption of a

tree, which, although it did not grow across her path, stopped her as effectively as if the branches had struck

her in the face. It was an ordinary tree, but to her it appeared so strange that it might have been the only tree

in the world. Dark was the trunk in the middle, and the branches sprang here and there, leaving jagged

intervals of light between them as distinctly as if it had but that second risen from the ground. Having seen a

sight that would last her for a lifetime, and for a lifetime would preserve that second, the tree once more sank

into the ordinary ranks of trees, and she was able to seat herself in its shade and to pick the red flowers with

the thin green leaves which were growing beneath it. She laid them side by side, flower to flower and stalk to

stalk, caressing them for walking alone. Flowers and even pebbles in the earth had their own life and

disposition, and brought back the feelings of a child to whom they were companions. Looking up, her eye

was caught by the line of the mountains flying out energetically across the sky like the lash of a curling whip.

She looked at the pale distant sky, and the high bare places on the mountaintops lying exposed to the sun.

When she sat down she had dropped her books on to the earth at her feet, and now she looked down on them

lying there, so square in the grass, a tall stem bending over and tickling the smooth brown cover of Gibbon,

while the mottled blue Balzac lay naked in the sun. With a feeling that to open and read would certainly be a

His generals, in the early part of his reign, attempted the reduction of Aethiopia and Arabia Felix. They

marched near a thousand miles to the south of the tropic; but the heat of the climate soon repelled the

invaders and protected the unwarlike natives of those sequestered regions. . . . The northern countries of

Europe scarcely deserved the expense and labour of conquest. The forests and morasses of Germany were

filled with a hardy race of barbarians, who despised life when it was separated from freedom.

Never had any words been so vivid and so beautifulArabia Felix Aethiopia. But those were not more

noble than the others, hardy barbarians, forests, and morasses. They seemed to drive roads back to the very

beginning of the world, on either side of which the populations of all times and countries stood in avenues,

and by passing down them all knowledge would be hers, and the book of the world turned back to the very

first page. Such was her excitement at the possibilities of knowledge now opening before her that she ceased

to read, and a breeze turning the page, the covers of Gibbon gently ruffled and closed together. She then rose

again and walked on. Slowly her mind became less confused and sought the origins of her exaltation, which

were twofold and could be limited by an effort to the persons of Mr. Hirst and Mr. Hewet. Any clear analysis

of them was impossible owing to the haze of wonder in which they were enveloped. She could not reason

about them as about people whose feelings went by the same rule as her own did, and her mind dwelt on

them with a kind of physical pleasure such as is caused by the contemplation of bright things hanging in the

sun. From them all life seemed to radiate; the very words of books were steeped in radiance. She then became

haunted by a suspicion which she was so reluctant to face that she welcomed a trip and stumble over the grass

because thus her attention was dispersed, but in a second it had collected itself again. Unconsciously she had

been walking faster and faster, her body trying to outrun her mind; but she was now on the summit of a little

hillock of earth which rose above the river and displayed the valley. She was no longer able to juggle with

several ideas, but must deal with the most persistent, and a kind of melancholy replaced her excitement. She

sank down on to the earth clasping her knees together, and looking blankly in front of her. For some time she

observed a great yellow butterfly, which was opening and closing its wings very slowly on a little flat stone.

"What is it to be in love?" she demanded, after a long silence; each word as it came into being seemed to

shove itself out into an unknown sea. Hypnotised by the wings of the butterfly, and awed by the discovery of

a terrible possibility in life, she sat for some time longer. When the butterfly flew away, she rose, and with

her two books beneath her arm returned home again, much as a soldier prepared for battle.

The sun of that same day going down, dusk was saluted as usual at the hotel by an instantaneous sparkle of

electric lights. The hours between dinner and bedtime were always difficult enough to kill, and the night after

the dance they were further tarnished by the peevishness of dissipation. Certainly, in the opinion of Hirst and

Hewet, who lay back in long armchairs in the middle of the hall, with their coffeecups beside them, and

their cigarettes in their hands, the evening was unusually dull, the women unusually badly dressed, the men

unusually fatuous. Moreover, when the mail had been distributed half an hour ago there were no letters for

either of the two young men. As every other person, practically, had received two or three plump letters from

England, which they were now engaged in reading, this seemed hard, and prompted Hirst to make the caustic

remark that the animals had been fed. Their silence, he said, reminded him of the silence in the lionhouse

when each beast holds a lump of raw meat in its paws. He went on, stimulated by this comparison, to liken

some to hippopotamuses, some to canary birds, some to swine, some to parrots, and some to loathsome

reptiles curled round the halfdecayed bodies of sheep. The intermittent soundsnow a cough, now a

horrible wheezing or throatclearing, now a little patter of conversationwere just, he declared, what you

hear if you stand in the lionhouse when the bones are being mauled. But these comparisons did not rouse

Hewet, who, after a careless glance round the room, fixed his eyes upon a thicket of native spears which were

so ingeniously arranged as to run their points at you whichever way you approached them. He was clearly

oblivious of his surroundings; whereupon Hirst, perceiving that Hewet's mind was a complete blank, fixed his

attention more closely upon his fellowcreatures. He was too far from them, however, to hear what they were

saying, but it pleased him to construct little theories about them from their gestures and appearance.

Mrs. Thornbury had received a great many letters. She was completely engrossed in them. When she had

finished a page she handed it to her husband, or gave him the sense of what she was reading in a series of

short quotations linked together by a sound at the back of her throat. "Evie writes that George has gone to

Glasgow. 'He finds Mr. Chadbourne so nice to work with, and we hope to spend Christmas together, but I

should not like to move Betty and Alfred any great distance (no, quite right), though it is difficult to imagine

cold weather in this heat. . . . Eleanor and Roger drove over in the new trap. . . . Eleanor certainly looked

more like herself than I've seen her since the winter. She has put Baby on three bottles now, which I'm sure is

wise (I'm sure it is too), and so gets better nights. . . . My hair still falls out. I find it on the pillow! But I am

cheered by hearing from Tottie Hall Green. . . . Muriel is in Torquay enjoying herself greatly at dances. She

_is_ going to show her black put after all.' . . . A line from Herbertso busy, poor fellow! Ah! Margaret

says, 'Poor old Mrs. Fairbank died on the eighth, quite suddenly in the conservatory, only a maid in the house,

who hadn't the presence of mind to lift her up, which they think might have saved her, but the doctor says it

might have come at any moment, and one can only feel thankful that it was in the house and not in the street

(I should think so!). The pigeons have increased terribly, just as the rabbits did five years ago . . .'" While she

read her husband kept nodding his head very slightly, but very steadily in sign of approval.

Near by, Miss Allan was reading her letters too. They were not altogether pleasant, as could be seen from the

slight rigidity which came over her large fine face as she finished reading them and replaced them neatly in

their envelopes. The lines of care and responsibility on her face made her resemble an elderly man rather than

a woman. The letters brought her news of the failure of last year's fruit crop in New Zealand, which was a

serious matter, for Hubert, her only brother, made his living on a fruit farm, and if it failed again, of course,

he would throw up his place, come back to England, and what were they to do with him this time? The

journey out here, which meant the loss of a term's work, became an extravagance and not the just and

wonderful holiday due to her after fifteen years of punctual lecturing and correcting essays upon English

literature. Emily, her sister, who was a teacher also, wrote: "We ought to be prepared, though I have no doubt

Hubert will be more reasonable this time." And then went on in her sensible way to say that she was enjoying

a very jolly time in the Lakes. "They are looking exceedingly pretty just now. I have seldom seen the trees so

forward at this time of year. We have taken our lunch out several days. Old Alice is as young as ever, and

asks after every one affectionately. The days pass very quickly, and term will soon be here. Political

prospects _not_ good, I think privately, but do not like to damp Ellen's enthusiasm. Lloyd George has taken

the Bill up, but so have many before now, and we are where we are; but trust to find myself mistaken.

Anyhow, we have our work cut out for us. . . . Surely Meredith lacks the _human_ note one likes in W. W.?"

she concluded, and went on to discuss some questions of English literature which Miss Allan had raised in

At a little distance from Miss Allan, on a seat shaded and made semiprivate by a thick clump of palm trees,

Arthur and Susan were reading each other's letters. The big slashing manuscripts of hockeyplaying young

women in Wiltshire lay on Arthur's knee, while Susan deciphered tight little legal hands which rarely filled

more than a page, and always conveyed the same impression of jocular and breezy goodwill.

"Flo Gravesthe girl I told you about, who was engaged to that dreadful Mr. Vincent," said Susan. "Is Mr.

Already her mind was busy with benevolent plans for her friends, or rather with one magnificent

planwhich was simple too they were all to get marriedat oncedirectly she got back. Marriage,

marriage that was the right thing, the only thing, the solution required by every one she knew, and a great part

of her meditations was spent in tracing every instance of discomfort, loneliness, illhealth, unsatisfied

ambition, restlessness, eccentricity, taking things up and dropping them again, public speaking, and

philanthropic activity on the part of men and particularly on the part of women to the fact that they wanted to

marry, were trying to marry, and had not succeeded in getting married. If, as she was bound to own, these

symptoms sometimes persisted after marriage, she could only ascribe them to the unhappy law of nature

which decreed that there was only one Arthur Venning, and only one Susan who could marry him. Her

theory, of course, had the merit of being fully supported by her own case. She had been vaguely

uncomfortable at home for two or three years now, and a voyage like this with her selfish old aunt, who paid

her fare but treated her as servant and companion in one, was typical of the kind of thing people expected of

her. Directly she became engaged, Mrs. Paley behaved with instinctive respect, positively protested when

Susan as usual knelt down to lace her shoes, and appeared really grateful for an hour of Susan's company

where she had been used to exact two or three as her right. She therefore foresaw a life of far greater comfort

than she had been used to, and the change had already produced a great increase of warmth in her feelings

It was close on twenty years now since Mrs. Paley had been able to lace her own shoes or even to see them,

the disappearance of her feet having coincided more or less accurately with the death of her husband, a man

of business, soon after which event Mrs. Paley began to grow stout. She was a selfish, independent old

woman, possessed of a considerable income, which she spent upon the upkeep of a house that needed seven

servants and a charwoman in Lancaster Gate, and another with a garden and carriagehorses in Surrey.

Susan's engagement relieved her of the one great anxiety of her life that her son Christopher should

"entangle himself" with his cousin. Now that this familiar source of interest was removed, she felt a little low

and inclined to see more in Susan than she used to. She had decided to give her a very handsome wedding

present, a cheque for two hundred, two hundred and fifty, or possibly, conceivably it depended upon the

undergardener and Huths' bill for doing up the drawingroomthree hundred pounds sterling.

She was thinking of this very question, revolving the figures, as she sat in her wheeled chair with a table

spread with cards by her side. The Patience had somehow got into a muddle, and she did not like to call for

"She's every right to expect a handsome present from me, of course," she thought, looking vaguely at the

leopard on its hind legs, "and I've no doubt she does! Money goes a long way with every one. The young are

very selfish. If I were to die, nobody would miss me but Dakyns, and she'll be consoled by the will! However,

I've got no reason to complain. . . . I can still enjoy myself. I'm not a burden to anyone. . . . I like a great

Being slightly depressed, however, she went on to think of the only people she had known who had not

seemed to her at all selfish or fond of money, who had seemed to her somehow rather finer than the general

run; people she willingly acknowledged, who were finer than she was. There were only two of them. One was

her brother, who had been drowned before her eyes, the other was a girl, her greatest friend, who had died in

giving birth to her first child. These things had happened some fifty years ago.

"They ought not to have died," she thought. "However, they did and we selfish old creatures go on." The

tears came to her eyes; she felt a genuine regret for them, a kind of respect for their youth and beauty, and a

kind of shame for herself; but the tears did not fall; and she opened one of those innumerable novels which

she used to pronounce good or bad, or pretty middling, or really wonderful. "I can't think how people come to

imagine such things," she would say, taking off her spectacles and looking up with the old faded eyes, that

Just behind the stuffed leopard Mr. Elliot was playing chess with Mr. Pepper. He was being defeated,

naturally, for Mr. Pepper scarcely took his eyes off the board, and Mr. Elliot kept leaning back in his chair

and throwing out remarks to a gentleman who had only arrived the night before, a tall handsome man, with a

head resembling the head of an intellectual ram. After a few remarks of a general nature had passed, they

were discovering that they knew some of the same people, as indeed had been obvious from their appearance

"Ah yes, old Truefit," said Mr. Elliot. "He has a son at Oxford. I've often stayed with them. It's a lovely old

Jacobean house. Some exquisite Greuzesone or two Dutch pictures which the old boy kept in the cellars.

Then there were stacks upon stacks of prints. Oh, the dirt in that house! He was a miser, you know. The boy

married a daughter of Lord Pinwells. I know them too. The collecting mania tends to run in families. This

chap collects bucklesmen's shoebuckles they must be, in use between the years 1580 and 1660; the dates

mayn't be right, but fact's as I say. Your true collector always has some unaccountable fad of that kind. On

other points he's as levelheaded as a breeder of shorthorns, which is what he happens to be. Then the

Pinwells, as you probably know, have their share of eccentricity too. Lady Maud, for instance" he was

interrupted here by the necessity of considering his move,"Lady Maud has a horror of cats and clergymen,

and people with big front teeth. I've heard her shout across a table, 'Keep your mouth shut, Miss Smith;

they're as yellow as carrots!' across a table, mind you. To me she's always been civility itself. She dabbles in

literature, likes to collect a few of us in her drawingroom, but mention a clergyman, a bishop even, nay, the

Archbishop himself, and she gobbles like a turkeycock. I've been told it's a family feudsomething to do

with an ancestor in the reign of Charles the First. Yes," he continued, suffering check after check, "I always

like to know something of the grandmothers of our fashionable young men. In my opinion they preserve all

that we admire in the eighteenth century, with the advantage, in the majority of cases, that they are personally

clean. Not that one would insult old Lady Barborough by calling her clean. How often d'you think, Hilda," he

"I should hardly like to say, Hugh," Mrs. Elliot tittered, "but wearing puce velvet, as she does even on the

"Pepper, you have me," said Mr. Elliot. "My chess is even worse than I remembered." He accepted his defeat

"Are these at all in your line?" he asked, pointing at a case in front of them, where highly polished crosses,

jewels, and bits of embroidery, the work of the natives, were displayed to tempt visitors.

"Shams, all of them," said Mr. Flushing briefly. "This rug, now, isn't at all bad." He stopped and picked up a

piece of the rug at their feet. "Not old, of course, but the design is quite in the right tradition. Alice, lend me

A lady, who was reading with great concentration, unfastened her brooch and gave it to her husband without

looking at him or acknowledging the tentative bow which Mr. Elliot was desirous of giving her. If she had

listened, she might have been amused by the reference to old Lady Barborough, her greataunt, but, oblivious

The clock, which had been wheezing for some minutes like an old man preparing to cough, now struck nine.

The sound slightly disturbed certain somnolent merchants, government officials, and men of independent

means who were lying back in their chairs, chatting, smoking, ruminating about their affairs, with their eyes

half shut; they raised their lids for an instant at the sound and then closed them again. They had the

appearance of crocodiles so fully gorged by their last meal that the future of the world gives them no anxiety

whatever. The only disturbance in the placid bright room was caused by a large moth which shot from light to

light, whizzing over elaborate heads of hair, and causing several young women to raise their hands nervously

"Ah, the creatures begin to stir. . . ." He watched them raise themselves, look about them, and settle down

again. "What I abhor most of all," he concluded, "is the female breast. Imagine being Venning and having to

get into bed with Susan! But the really repulsive thing is that they feel nothing at all about what I do when

So saying, and drawing no reply from Hewet, he proceeded to think about himself, about science, about

Cambridge, about the Bar, about Helen and what she thought of him, until, being very tired, he was nodding

"Well, I'll sit down and think about it," said Hirst. "One really ought to. If these people would only think

about things, the world would be a far better place for us all to live in. Are you trying to think?"

That was exactly what Hewet had been doing for the last halfhour, but he did not find Hirst sympathetic at

An unusual feeling had been bothering him all the evening and forbidding him to settle into any one train of

thought. It was precisely as if he had been in the middle of a talk which interested him profoundly when some

one came up and interrupted him. He could not finish the talk, and the longer he sat there the more he wanted

to finish it. As the talk that had been interrupted was a talk with Rachel, he had to ask himself why he felt

this, and why he wanted to go on talking to her. Hirst would merely say that he was in love with her. But he

was not in love with her. Did love begin in that way, with the wish to go on talking? No. It always began in

his case with definite physical sensations, and these were now absent, he did not even find her physically

attractive. There was something, of course, unusual about hershe was young, inexperienced, and

inquisitive, they had been more open with each other than was usually possible. He always found girls

interesting to talk to, and surely these were good reasons why he should wish to go on talking to her; and last

night, what with the crowd and the confusion, he had only been able to begin to talk to her. What was she

doing now? Lying on a sofa and looking at the ceiling, perhaps. He could imagine her doing that, and Helen

in an armchair, with her hands on the arm of it, solooking ahead of her, with her great big eyes oh no,

they'd be talking, of course, about the dance. But suppose Rachel was going away in a day or two, suppose

this was the end of her visit, and her father had arrived in one of the steamers anchored in the bay,it was

intolerable to know so little. Therefore he exclaimed, "How d'you know what you feel, Hirst?" to stop himself

But Hirst did not help him, and the other people with their aimless movements and their unknown lives were

disturbing, so that he longed for the empty darkness. The first thing he looked for when he stepped out of the

hall door was the light of the Ambroses' villa. When he had definitely decided that a certain light apart from

the others higher up the hill was their light, he was considerably reassured. There seemed to be at once a little

stability in all this incoherence. Without any definite plan in his head, he took the turning to the right and

walked through the town and came to the wall by the meeting of the roads, where he stopped. The booming

of the sea was audible. The darkblue mass of the mountains rose against the paler blue of the sky. There was

no moon, but myriads of stars, and lights were anchored up and down in the dark waves of earth all round

him. He had meant to go back, but the single light of the Ambroses' villa had now become three separate

lights, and he was tempted to go on. He might as well make sure that Rachel was still there. Walking fast, he

soon stood by the iron gate of their garden, and pushed it open; the outline of the house suddenly appeared

sharply before his eyes, and the thin column of the verandah cutting across the palely lit gravel of the terrace.

He hesitated. At the back of the house some one was rattling cans. He approached the front; the light on the

terrace showed him that the sittingrooms were on that side. He stood as near the light as he could by the

corner of the house, the leaves of a creeper brushing his face. After a moment he could hear a voice. The

voice went on steadily; it was not talking, but from the continuity of the sound it was a voice reading aloud.

He crept a little closer; he crumpled the leaves together so as to stop their rustling about his ears. It might be

Rachel's voice. He left the shadow and stepped into the radius of the light, and then heard a sentence spoken

"And there we lived from the year 1860 to 1895, the happiest years of my parents' lives, and there in 1862 my

brother Maurice was born, to the delight of his parents, as he was destined to be the delight of all who knew

The voice quickened, and the tone became conclusive rising slightly in pitch, as if these words were at the

end of the chapter. Hewet drew back again into the shadow. There was a long silence. He could just hear

chairs being moved inside. He had almost decided to go back, when suddenly two figures appeared at the

"It was Maurice Fielding, of course, that your mother was engaged to," said Helen's voice. She spoke

reflectively, looking out into the dark garden, and thinking evidently as much of the look of the night as of

"Mother?" said Rachel. Hewet's heart leapt, and he noticed the fact. Her voice, though low, was full of

"I never knew there'd been any one else," said Rachel. She was clearly surprised, but all they said was said

low and inexpressively, because they were speaking out into the cool dark night.

"More people were in love with her than with any one I've ever known," Helen stated. She had that

powershe enjoyed things. She wasn't beautiful, butI was thinking of her last night at the dance. She got

It appeared that Helen was going back into the past, choosing her words deliberately, comparing Theresa with

"I don't know how she did it," she continued, and ceased, and there was a long pause, in which a little owl

"That's so like Aunt Lucy and Aunt Katie," said Rachel at last. "They always make out that she was very sad

"Then why, for goodness' sake, did they do nothing but criticize her when she was alive?" said Helen. Very

The broken sentences had an extraordinary beauty and detachment in Hewet's ears, and a kind of mystery too,

"No, Rachel," Helen's voice continued, "I'm not going to walk in the garden; it's dampit's sure to be damp;

"Toads? Those are stones, Helen. Come out. It's nicer out. The flowers smell," Rachel replied.

Hewet drew still farther back. His heart was beating very quickly. Apparently Rachel tried to pull Helen out

on to the terrace, and helen resisted. There was a certain amount of scuffling, entreating, resisting, and

laughter from both of them. Then a man's form appeared. Hewet could not hear what they were all saying. In

a minute they had gone in; he could hear bolts grating then; there was dead silence, and all the lights went

He turned away, still crumpling and uncrumpling a handful of leaves which he had torn from the wall. An

exquisite sense of pleasure and relief possessed him; it was all so solid and peaceful after the ball at the hotel,

whether he was in love with them or not, and he was not in love with them; no, but it was good that they

After standing still for a minute or two he turned and began to walk towards the gate. With the movement of

his body, the excitement, the romance and the richness of life crowded into his brain. He shouted out a line of

poetry, but the words escaped him, and he stumbled among lines and fragments of lines which had no

meaning at all except for the beauty of the words. He shut the gate, and ran swinging from side to side down

the hill, shouting any nonsense that came into his head. "Here am I," he cried rhythmically, as his feet

pounded to the left and to the right, "plunging along, like an elephant in the jungle, stripping the branches as I

go (he snatched at the twigs of a bush at the roadside), roaring innumerable words, lovely words about

innumerable things, running downhill and talking nonsense aloud to myself about roads and leaves and lights

and women coming out into the darknessabout women about Rachel, about Rachel." He stopped and

drew a deep breath. The night seemed immense and hospitable, and although so dark there seemed to be

things moving down there in the harbour and movement out at sea. He gazed until the darkness numbed him,

and then he walked on quickly, still murmuring to himself. "And I ought to be in bed, snoring and dreaming,

dreaming, dreaming. Dreams and realities, dreams and realities, dreams and realities," he repeated all the way

up the avenue, scarcely knowing what he said, until he reached the front door. Here he paused for a second,

His eyes were dazed, his hands very cold, and his brain excited and yet half asleep. Inside the door everything

was as he had left it except that the hall was now empty. There were the chairs turning in towards each other

where people had sat talking, and the empty glasses on little tables, and the newspapers scattered on the floor.

As he shut the door he felt as if he were enclosed in a square box, and instantly shrivelled up. It was all very

bright and very small. He stopped for a minute by the long table to find a paper which he had meant to read,

but he was still too much under the influence of the dark and the fresh air to consider carefully which paper it

As he fumbled vaguely among the papers he saw a figure cross the tail of his eye, coming downstairs. He

heard the swishing sound of skirts, and to his great surprise, Evelyn M. came up to him, laid her hand on the

"You're just the person I wanted to talk to." Her voice was a little unpleasant and metallic, her eyes were very

"But I think you understand better than most people," she answered, and sat down on a little chair placed

"Well?" he said. He yawned openly, and lit a cigarette. He could not believe that this was really happening to

"It's for you to say," he replied. "I'm interested, I think." He still felt numb all over and as if she was much too

"Any one can be interested!" she cried impatiently. "Your friend Mr. Hirst's interested, I daresay. however, I

do believe in you. You look as if you'd got a nice sister, somehow." She paused, picking at some sequins on

her knees, and then, as if she had made up her mind, she started off, "Anyhow, I'm going to ask your advice.

D'you ever get into a state where you don't know your own mind? That's the state I'm in now. You see, last

night at the dance Raymond Oliver,he's the tall dark boy who looks as if he had Indian blood in him, but

he says he's not really,well, we were sitting out together, and he told me all about himself, how unhappy he

is at home, and how he hates being out here. They've put him into some beastly mining business. He says it's

beastlyI should like it, I know, but that's neither here nor there. And I felt awfully sorry for him, one

couldn't help being sorry for him, and when he asked me to let him kiss me, I did. I don't see any harm in that,

do you? And then this morning he said he'd thought I meant something more, and I wasn't the sort to let any

one kiss me. And we talked and talked. I daresay I was very silly, but one can't help liking people when one's

sorry for them. I do like him most awfully" She paused. "So I gave him half a promise, and then, you see,

"We got to know each other on that picnic the other day," she continued. "He seemed so lonely, especially as

Arthur had gone off with Susan, and one couldn't help guessing what was in his mind. So we had quite a long

talk when you were looking at the ruins, and he told me all about his life, and his struggles, and how fearfully

hard it had been. D'you know, he was a boy in a grocer's shop and took parcels to people's houses in a basket?

That interested me awfully, because I always say it doesn't matter how you're born if you've got the right stuff

in you. And he told me about his sister who's paralysed, poor girl, and one can see she's a great trial, though

he's evidently very devoted to her. I must say I do admire people like that! I don't expect you do because

you're so clever. Well, last night we sat out in the garden together, and I couldn't help seeing what he wanted

to say, and comforting him a little, and telling him I did careI really doonly, then, there's Raymond

Oliver. What I want you to tell me is, can one be in love with two people at once, or can't one?"

She became silent, and sat with her chin on her hands, looking very intent, as if she were facing a real

"I think it depends what sort of person you are," said Hewet. He looked at her. She was small and pretty, aged

perhaps twentyeight or twentynine, but though dashing and sharply cut, her features expressed nothing

"Well, I was coming to that," said Evelyn M. She continued to rest her chin on her hands and to look intently

ahead of her. "I'm the daughter of a mother and no father, if that interests you," she said. "It's not a very nice

thing to be. It's what often happens in the country. She was a farmer's daughter, and he was rather a swell

the young man up at the great house. He never made things straight never married herthough he allowed

us quite a lot of money. His people wouldn't let him. Poor father! I can't help liking him. Mother wasn't the

sort of woman who could keep him straight, anyhow. He was killed in the war. I believe his men worshipped

him. They say great big troopers broke down and cried over his body on the battlefield. I wish I'd known him.

Mother had all the life crushed out of her. The world" She clenched her fist. "Oh, people can be horrid to a

"I've looked after myself mostly," she laughed. "I've had splendid friends. I do like people! That's the trouble.

What would you do if you liked two people, both of them tremendously, and you couldn't tell which most?"

"But one has to make up one's mind," said Evelyn. "Or are you one of the people who doesn't believe in

marriages and all that? Look herethis isn't fair, I do all the telling, and you tell nothing. Perhaps you're the

same as your friend"she looked at him suspiciously; "perhaps you don't like me?"

"I know when I like a person directly I see them! I knew I liked you the very first night at dinner. Oh dear,"

she continued impatiently, "what a lot of bother would be saved if only people would say the things they

"I don't suppose I've had more proposals than most women," said Evelyn, but she spoke without conviction.

Evelyn seemed to intimate that perhaps ten was the right figure, but that it really was not a high one.

"I believe you're thinking me a heartless flirt," she protested. "But I don't care if you are. I don't care what any

one thinks of me. Just because one's interested and likes to be friends with men, and talk to them as one talks

"Honestly, honestly,how I hate that word! It's always used by prigs," cried Evelyn. "Honestly I think they

ought to be. That's what's so disappointing. Every time one thinks it's not going to happen, and every time it

"You're horrid," she cried. "You don't care a bit really. You might be Mr. Hirst."

"Well," said Hewet, "let's consider. Let us consider" He paused, because for the moment he could not

remember what it was that they had to consider. He was far more interested in her than in her story, for as she

went on speaking his numbness had disappeared, and he was conscious of a mixture of liking, pity, and

"Not exactly promised," said Evelyn. "I can't make up my mind which I really like best. Oh how I detest

modern life!" she flung off. "It must have been so much easier for the Elizabethans! I thought the other day

on that mountain how I'd have liked to be one of those colonists, to cut down trees and make laws and all

that, instead of fooling about with all these people who think one's just a pretty young lady. Though I'm not. I

really might _do_ something." She reflected in silence for a minute. Then she said:

"I'm afraid right down in my heart that Alfred Perrot _won't_ do. He's not strong, is he?"

"Perhaps he couldn't cut down a tree," said Hewet. "Have you never cared for anybody?" he asked.

"I've cared for heaps of people, but not to marry them," she said. "I suppose I'm too fastidious. All my life

I've wanted somebody I could look up to, somebody great and big and splendid. Most men are so small."

"We don't care for people because of their qualities," he tried to explain. "It's just them that we care for,"

"I see what you mean," she said, "but I don't agree. I do know why I care for people, and I think I'm hardly

ever wrong. I see at once what they've got in them. Now I think you must be rather splendid; but not Mr.

"He's not nearly so unselfish, or so sympathetic, or so big, or so understanding," Evelyn continued.

"I'm not trying to flirt with you, though I suppose you think I am!" Evelyn shot out. "I'd never have come to

you if I'd thought you'd merely think odious things of me!" The tears came into her eyes.

"Of course I don't," she protested. "Haven't I told you? I want friendship; I want to care for some one greater

and nobler than I am, and if they fall in love with me it isn't my fault; I don't want it; I positively hate it."

Hewet could see that there was very little use in going on with the conversation, for it was obvious that

Evelyn did not wish to say anything in particular, but to impress upon him an image of herself, being, for

some reason which she would not reveal, unhappy, or insecure. He was very tired, and a pale waiter kept

walking ostentatiously into the middle of the room and looking at them meaningly.

"They want to shut up," he said. "My advice is that you should tell Oliver and Perrott tomorrow that you've

made up your mind that you don't mean to marry either of them. I'm certain you don't. If you change your

mind you can always tell them so. They're both sensible men; they'll understand. And then all this bother will

But Evelyn did not move. She sat looking up at him with her bright eager eyes, in the depths of which he

"There are heaps of things I want to say to you still," she said. "And I'm going to, some time. I suppose you

"Yes," said Hewet. "I'm half asleep." He left her still sitting by herself in the empty hall.

"Why is it that they _won't_ be honest?" he muttered to himself as he went upstairs. Why was it that relations

between different people were so unsatisfactory, so fragmentary, so hazardous, and words so dangerous that

the instinct to sympathise with another human being was an instinct to be examined carefully and probably

crushed? What had Evelyn really wished to say to him? What was she feeling left alone in the empty hall?

The mystery of life and the unreality even of one's own sensations overcame him as he walked down the

corridor which led to his room. It was dimly lighted, but sufficiently for him to see a figure in a bright

dressinggown pass swiftly in front of him, the figure of a woman crossing from one room to another.

Whether too slight or too vague the ties that bind people casually meeting in a hotel at midnight, they possess

one advantage at least over the bonds which unite the elderly, who have lived together once and so must live

for ever. Slight they may be, but vivid and genuine, merely because the power to break them is within the

grasp of each, and there is no reason for continuance except a true desire that continue they shall. When two

people have been married for years they seem to become unconscious of each other's bodily presence so that

they move as if alone, speak aloud things which they do not expect to be answered, and in general seem to

experience all the comfort of solitude without its loneliness. The joint lives of Ridley and Helen had arrived

at this stage of community, and it was often necessary for one or the other to recall with an effort whether a

thing had been said or only thought, shared or dreamt in private. At four o'clock in the afternoon two or three

days later Mrs. Ambrose was standing brushing her hair, while her husband was in the dressingroom which

opened out of her room, and occasionally, through the cascade of waterhe was washing his faceshe

caught exclamations, "So it goes on year after year; I wish, I wish, I wish I could make an end of it," to which

"It's white? Or only brown?" Thus she herself murmured, examining a hair which gleamed suspiciously

among the brown. She pulled it out and laid it on the dressingtable. She was criticising her own appearance,

or rather approving of it, standing a little way back from the glass and looking at her own face with superb

pride and melancholy, when her husband appeared in the doorway in his shirt sleeves, his face half obscured

"Tell me if this is a white hair, then?" she replied. She laid the hair on his hand.

"Ah, Ridley, I begin to doubt," she sighed; and bowed her head under his eyes so that he might judge, but the

inspection produced only a kiss where the line of parting ran, and husband and wife then proceeded to move

"What was that you were saying?" Helen remarked, after an interval of conversation which no third person

"Rachelyou ought to keep an eye upon Rachel," he observed significantly, and Helen, though she went on

"Young gentlemen don't interest themselves in young women's education without a motive," he remarked.

"Hirst and Hewet, they're all the same to meall covered with spots," he replied. "He advises her to read

Helen did not know that, but she would not allow herself inferior to her husband in powers of observation.

"Nothing would surprise me. Even that dreadful flying man we met at the danceeven Mr.

"I advise you to be circumspect," said Ridley. "There's Willoughby, rememberWilloughby"; he pointed at

Helen looked with a sigh at an envelope which lay upon her dressingtable. Yes, there lay Willoughby, curt,

inexpressive, perpetually jocular, robbing a whole continent of mystery, enquiring after his daughter's

manners and moralshoping she wasn't a bore, and bidding them pack her off to him on board the very next

ship if she were and then grateful and affectionate with suppressed emotion, and then half a page about his

own triumphs over wretched little natives who went on strike and refused to load his ships, until he roared

English oaths at them, "popping my head out of the window just as I was, in my shirt sleeves. The beggars

"If Theresa married Willoughby," she remarked, turning the page with a hairpin, "one doesn't see what's to

But Ridley was now off on grievances of his own connected with the washing of his shirts, which somehow

led to the frequent visits of Hughling Elliot, who was a bore, a pedant, a dry stick of a man, and yet Ridley

couldn't simply point at the door and tell him to go. The truth of it was, they saw too many people. And so on

and so on, more conjugal talk pattering softly and unintelligibly, until they were both ready to go down to tea.

The first thing that caught Helen's eye as she came downstairs was a carriage at the door, filled with skirts

and feathers nodding on the tops of hats. She had only time to gain the drawingroom before two names were

oddly mispronounced by the Spanish maid, and Mrs. Thornbury came in slightly in advance of Mrs. Wilfrid

"Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing," said Mrs. Thornbury, with a wave of her hand. "A friend of our common friend Mrs.

Mrs. Flushing shook hands energetically. She was a woman of forty perhaps, very well set up and erect,

splendidly robust, though not as tall as the upright carriage of her body made her appear.

She had a strongly marked face, her eyes looked straight at you, and though naturally she was imperious in

her manner she was nervous at the same time. Mrs. Thornbury acted as interpreter, making things smooth all

"I've taken it upon myself, Mr. Ambrose," she said, "to promise that you will be so kind as to give Mrs.

Flushing the benefit of your experience. I'm sure no one here knows the country as well as you do. No one

takes such wonderful long walks. No one, I'm sure, has your encyclopaedic knowledge upon every subject.

Mr. Wilfrid Flushing is a collector. He has discovered really beautiful things already. I had no notion that the

"Not old thingsnew things," interrupted Mrs. Flushing curtly. "That is, if he takes my advice."

The Ambroses had not lived for many years in London without knowing something of a good many people,

by name at least, and Helen remembered hearing of the Flushings. Mr. Flushing was a man who kept an old

furniture shop; he had always said he would not marry because most women have red cheeks, and would not

take a house because most houses have narrow staircases, and would not eat meat because most animals

bleed when they are killed; and then he had married an eccentric aristocratic lady, who certainly was not pale,

who looked as if she ate meat, who had forced him to do all the things he most disliked and this then was

the lady. Helen looked at her with interest. They had moved out into the garden, where the tea was laid under

a tree, and Mrs. Flushing was helping herself to cherry jam. She had a peculiar jerking movement of the body

when she spoke, which caused the canarycoloured plume on her hat to jerk too. Her small but finelycut

and vigorous features, together with the deep red of lips and cheeks, pointed to many generations of

"Nothin' that's more than twenty years old interests me," she continued. "Mouldy old pictures, dirty old

"I quite agree," Helen laughed. "But my husband spends his life in digging up manuscripts which nobody

"There's a clever man in London called John who paints ever so much better than the old masters," Mrs.

"And Mrs. Flushing lived in one of the most beautiful old houses in EnglandChillingley," Mrs. Thornbury

"If I'd my way I'd burn that tomorrow," Mrs. Flushing laughed. She had a laugh like the cry of a jay, at once

"What does any sane person want with those great big houses?" she demanded. "If you go downstairs after

dark you're covered with black beetles, and the electric lights always goin' out. What would you do if spiders

came out of the tap when you turned on the hot water?" she demanded, fixing her eye on Helen.

"This is what I like," said Mrs. Flushing. She jerked her head at the Villa. "A little house in a garden. I had

one once in Ireland. One could lie in bed in the mornin' and pick roses outside the window with one's toes."

"There were no gardeners," Mrs. Flushing chuckled. "Nobody but me and an old woman without any teeth.

You know the poor in Ireland lose their teeth after they're twenty. But you wouldn't expect a politician to

Ridley sighed that he never expected any one to understand anything, least of all politicians.

"However," he concluded, "there's one advantage I find in extreme old agenothing matters a hang except

one's food and one's digestion. All I ask is to be left alone to moulder away in solitude. It's obvious that the

world's going as fast as it can tothe Nethermost Pit, and all I can do is to sit still and consume as much of

my own smoke as possible." He groaned, and with a melancholy glance laid the jam on his bread, for he felt

"I always contradict my husband when he says that," said Mrs. Thornbury sweetly. "You men! Where would

"_Symposium_?" cried Mrs. Flushing. "That's Latin or Greek? Tell me, is there a good translation?"

Mrs. Flushing cried, "Ah, ah, ah! I'd rather break stones in the road. I always envy the men who break stones

and sit on those nice little heaps all day wearin' spectacles. I'd infinitely rather break stones than clean out

"_The_ _Decline_ _and_ _Fall_ _of_ _the_ _Roman_ _Empire_?" said Mrs. Thornbury. "A very wonderful

book, I know. My dear father was always quoting it at us, with the result that we resolved never to read a

"Gibbon the historian?" enquired Mrs. Flushing. "I connect him with some of the happiest hours of my life.

We used to lie in bed and read Gibbonabout the massacres of the Christians, I remember when we were

supposed to be asleep. It's no joke, I can tell you, readin' a great big book, in double columns, by a

nightlight, and the light that comes through a chink in the door. Then there were the mothstiger moths,

yellow moths, and horrid cockchafers. Louisa, my sister, would have the window open. I wanted it shut. We

fought every night of our lives over that window. Have you ever seen a moth dyin' in a nightlight?" she

Again there was an interruption. Hewet and Hirst appeared at the drawingroom window and came up to the

Rachel's heart beat hard. She was conscious of an extraordinary intensity in everything, as though their

presence stripped some cover off the surface of things; but the greetings were remarkably commonplace.

"Excuse me," said Hirst, rising from his chair directly he had sat down. He went into the drawingroom, and

"Whenever I get at all run down I tend to be rheumatic," Hirst stated. He bent his wrist back sharply. "I hear

Rachel looked at him. She was amused, and yet she was respectful; if such a thing could be, the upper part of

"No, I don't like it," she replied. She had indeed been trying all the afternoon to read it, and for some reason

the glory which she had perceived at first had faded, and, read as she would, she could not grasp the meaning

"It goes round, round, round, like a roll of oilcloth," she hazarded. Evidently she meant Hewet alone to hear

She was instantly ashamed of her figure of speech, for she could not explain it in words of sober criticism.

"Surely it's the most perfect style, so far as style goes, that's ever been invented," he continued. "Every

"Ugly in body, repulsive in mind," she thought, instead of thinking about Gibbon's style. "Yes, but strong,

searching, unyielding in mind." She looked at his big head, a disproportionate part of which was occupied by

"I give you up in despair," he said. He meant it lightly, but she took it seriously, and believed that her value

as a human being was lessened because she did not happen to admire the style of Gibbon. The others were

talking now in a group about the native villages which Mrs. Flushing ought to visit.

"I despair too," she said impetuously. "How are you going to judge people merely by their minds?"

"You agree with my spinster Aunt, I expect," said St. John in his jaunty manner, which was always irritating

because it made the person he talked to appear unduly clumsy and in earnest. "'Be good, sweet maid'I

"One can be very nice without having read a book," she asserted. Very silly and simple her words sounded,

Most unexpectedly Mrs. Thornbury here intervened, either because it was her mission to keep things smooth

or because she had long wished to speak to Mr. Hirst, feeling as she did that young men were her sons.

"I have lived all my life with people like your Aunt, Mr. Hirst," she said, leaning forward in her chair. Her

brown squirrellike eyes became even brighter than usual. "They have never heard of Gibbon. They only care

for their pheasants and their peasants. They are great big men who look so fine on horseback, as people must

have done, I think, in the days of the great wars. Say what you like against themthey are animal, they are

unintellectual; they don't read themselves, and they don't want others to read, but they are some of the finest

and the kindest human beings on the face of the earth! You would be surprised at some of the stories I could

tell. You have never guessed, perhaps, at all the romances that go on in the heart of the country. There are the

people, I feel, among whom Shakespeare will be born if he is ever born again. In those old houses, up among

"My Aunt," Hirst interrupted, "spends her life in East Lambeth among the degraded poor. I only quoted my

Aunt because she is inclined to persecute people she calls 'intellectual,' which is what I suspect Miss Vinrace

of doing. It's all the fashion now. If you're clever it's always taken for granted that you're completely without

sympathy, understanding, affectionall the things that really matter. Oh, you Christians! You're the most

conceited, patronising, hypocritical set of old humbugs in the kingdom! Of course," he continued, "I'm the

first to allow your country gentlemen great merits. For one thing, they're probably quite frank about their

passions, which we are not. My father, who is a clergyman in Norfolk, says that there is hardly a squire in the

"But about Gibbon?" Hewet interrupted. The look of nervous tension which had come over every face was

"You find him monotonous, I suppose. But you know" He opened the book, and began searching for

passages to read aloud, and in a little time he found a good one which he considered suitable. But there was

nothing in the world that bored Ridley more than being read aloud to, and he was besides scrupulously

fastidious as to the dress and behaviour of ladies. In the space of fifteen minutes he had decided against Mrs.

Flushing on the ground that her orange plume did not suit her complexion, that she spoke too loud, that she

crossed her legs, and finally, when he saw her accept a cigarette that Hewet offered her, he jumped up,

exclaiming something about "bar parlours," and left them. Mrs. Flushing was evidently relieved by his

departure. She puffed her cigarette, stuck her legs out, and examined Helen closely as to the character and

reputation of their common friend Mrs. Raymond Parry. By a series of little strategems she drove her to

define Mrs. Parry as somewhat elderly, by no means beautiful, very much made upan insolent old

harridan, in short, whose parties were amusing because one met odd people; but Helen herself always pitied

poor Mr. Parry, who was understood to be shut up downstairs with cases full of gems, while his wife enjoyed

herself in the drawingroom. "Not that I believe what people say against heralthough she hints, of

When Mrs. Flushing rose to go she was obviously delighted with her new acquaintances. She made three or

four different plans for meeting or going on an expedition, or showing Helen the things they had bought, on

her way to the carriage. She included them all in a vague but magnificent invitation.

As Helen returned to the garden again, Ridley's words of warning came into her head, and she hesitated a

moment and looked at Rachel sitting between Hirst and Hewet. But she could draw no conclusions, for

Hewet was still reading Gibbon aloud, and Rachel, for all the expression she had, might have been a shell,

and his words water rubbing against her ears, as water rubs a shell on the edge of a rock.

Hewet's voice was very pleasant. When he reached the end of the period Hewet stopped, and no one

"I do adore the aristocracy!" Hirst exclaimed after a moment's pause. "They're so amazingly unscrupulous.

"What I like about them," said Helen as she sat down, "is that they're so well put together. Naked, Mrs.

"Yes," said Hirst. A shade of depression crossed his face. "I've never weighed more than ten stone in my

life," he said, "which is ridiculous, considering my height, and I've actually gone down in weight since we

came here. I daresay that accounts for the rheumatism." Again he jerked his wrist back sharply, so that Helen

"It's no laughing matter for me, I assure you," he protested. "My mother's a chronic invalid, and I'm always

expecting to be told that I've got heart disease myself. Rheumatism always goes to the heart in the end."

"For goodness' sake, Hirst," Hewet protested; "one might think you were an old cripple of eighty. If it comes

to that, I had an aunt who died of cancer myself, but I put a bold face on it" He rose and began tilting his

chair backwards and forwards on its hind legs. "Is any one here inclined for a walk?" he said. "There's a

magnificent walk, up behind the house. You come out on to a cliff and look right down into the sea. The

rocks are all red; you can see them through the water. The other day I saw a sight that fairly took my breath

away about twenty jellyfish, semitransparent, pink, with long streamers, floating on the top of the

"Sure they weren't mermaids?" said Hirst. "It's much too hot to climb uphill." He looked at Helen, who

"But she might have said that anyhow," Helen thought to herself as Hewet and Rachel went away together,

He may have been satisfied, but his usual difficulty in deciding that one subject was more deserving of notice

than another prevented him from speaking for some time. He sat staring intently at the head of a dead match,

while Helen consideredso it seemed from the expression of her eyessomething not closely connected

At last St. John exclaimed, "Damn! Damn everything! Damn everybody!" he added. "At Cambridge there are

"At Cambridge there are people to talk to," Helen echoed him, rhythmically and absentmindedly. Then she

woke up. "By the way, have you settled what you're going to dois it to be Cambridge or the Bar?"

He pursed his lips, but made no immediate answer, for Helen was still slightly inattentive. She had been

thinking about Rachel and which of the two young men she was likely to fall in love with, and now sitting

She did not include Hewet in this criticism; she was thinking of the clever, honest, interesting young men she

knew, of whom Hirst was a good example, and wondering whether it was necessary that thought and

scholarship should thus maltreat their bodies, and should thus elevate their minds to a very high tower from

"And the future?" she reflected, vaguely envisaging a race of men becoming more and more like Hirst, and a

race of women becoming more and more like Rachel. "Oh no," she concluded, glancing at him, "one wouldn't

marry you. Well, then, the future of the race is in the hands of Susan and Arthur; nothat's dreadful. Of farm

labourers; nonot of the English at all, but of Russians and Chinese." This train of thought did not satisfy

"Bennett?" she enquired. Becoming more at ease, St. John dropped the concentrated abruptness of his

manner, and explained that Bennett was a man who lived in an old windmill six miles out of Cambridge. He

lived the perfect life, according to St. John, very lonely, very simple, caring only for the truth of things,

always ready to talk, and extraordinarily modest, though his mind was of the greatest.

"Don't you think," said St. John, when he had done describing him, "that kind of thing makes this kind of

thing rather flimsy? Did you notice at tea how poor old Hewet had to change the conversation? How they

were all ready to pounce upon me because they thought I was going to say something improper? It wasn't

anything, really. If Bennett had been there he'd have said exactly what he meant to say, or he'd have got up

and gone. But there's something rather bad for the character in thatI mean if one hasn't got Bennett's

"Of course I am, disgustingly bitter, and it's a beastly thing to be. But the worst of me is that I'm so envious. I

envy every one. I can't endure people who do things better than I doperfectly absurd things toowaiters

balancing piles of plateseven Arthur, because Susan's in love with him. I want people to like me, and they

don't. It's partly my appearance, I expect," he continued, "though it's an absolute lie to say I've Jewish blood

in me as a matter of fact we've been in Norfolk, Hirst of Hirstbourne Hall, for three centuries at least. It

"They do," said Hirst with conviction. "In the first place, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen; in

If Hirst had looked at her instead of looking intently at his teacup he would have seen Helen blush, partly

with pleasure, partly with an impulse of affection towards the young man who had seemed, and would seem

again, so ugly and so limited. She pitied him, for she suspected that he suffered, and she was interested in

him, for many of the things he said seemed to her true; she admired the morality of youth, and yet she felt

imprisoned. As if her instinct were to escape to something brightly coloured and impersonal, which she could

hold in her hands, she went into the house and returned with her embroidery. But he was not interested in her

"About Miss Vinrace," he began,"oh, look here, do let's be St. John and Helen, and Rachel and

Terencewhat's she like? Does she reason, does she feel, or is she merely a kind of footstool?"

"Oh no," said Helen, with great decision. From her observations at tea she was inclined to doubt whether

Hirst was the person to educate Rachel. She had gradually come to be interested in her niece, and fond of her;

she disliked some things about her very much, she was amused by others; but she felt her, on the whole, a

live if unformed human being, experimental, and not always fortunate in her experiments, but with powers of

some kind, and a capacity for feeling. Somewhere in the depths of her, too, she was bound to Rachel by the

indestructible if inexplicable ties of sex. "She seems vague, but she's a will of her own," she said, as if in the

The embroidery, which was a matter for thought, the design being difficult and the colours wanting

consideration, brought lapses into the dialogue when she seemed to be engrossed in her skeins of silk, or,

with head a little drawn back and eyes narrowed, considered the effect of the whole. Thus she merely said,

Perhaps he resented this division of attention. He sat silent watching Helen closely.

"Yes," said Helen, sticking her needle in again. "I don't know why I'm happy," she suddenly laughed, looking

"There's an abyss between us," said St. John. His voice sounded as if it issued from the depths of a cavern in

the rocks. "You're infinitely simpler than I am. Women always are, of course. That's the difficulty. One never

knows how a woman gets there. Supposing all the time you're thinking, 'Oh, what a morbid young man!'"

Helen sat and looked at him with her needle in her hand. From her position she saw his head in front of the

dark pyramid of a magnoliatree. With one foot raised on the rung of a chair, and her elbow out in the

attitude for sewing, her own figure possessed the sublimity of a woman's of the early world, spinning the

thread of fatethe sublimity possessed by many women of the present day who fall into the attitude required

"I suppose you've never paid any a compliment in the course of your life," he said irrelevantly.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "That's one mercy. You see," he continued with emotion, "I'd rather you liked

"What about the five philosophers?" said Helen, with a laugh, stitching firmly and swiftly at her canvas. "I

Hirst had no particular wish to describe them, but when he began to consider them he found himself soothed

and strengthened. Far away to the other side of the world as they were, in smoky rooms, and grey medieval

courts, they appeared remarkable figures, freespoken men with whom one could be at ease; incomparably

more subtle in emotion than the people here. They gave him, certainly, what no woman could give him, not

Helen even. Warming at the thought of them, he went on to lay his case before Mrs. Ambrose. Should he stay

on at Cambridge or should he go to the Bar? One day he thought one thing, another day another. Helen

listened attentively. At last, without any preface, she pronounced her decision.

"I think you'd enjoy London more," she said. It did not seem a very subtle reason, but she appeared to think it

sufficient. She looked at him against the background of flowering magnolia. There was something curious in

the sight. Perhaps it was that the heavy waxlike flowers were so smooth and inarticulate, and his face he

had thrown his hat away, his hair was rumpled, he held his eyeglasses in his hand, so that a red mark

appeared on either side of his nosewas so worried and garrulous. It was a beautiful bush, spreading very

widely, and all the time she had sat there talking she had been noticing the patches of shade and the shape of

the leaves, and the way the great white flowers sat in the midst of the green. She had noticed it

halfconsciously, nevertheless the pattern had become part of their talk. She laid down her sewing, and began

to walk up and down the garden, and Hirst rose too and paced by her side. He was rather disturbed,

The sun was beginning to go down, and a change had come over the mountains, as if they were robbed of

their earthly substance, and composed merely of intense blue mist. Long thin clouds of flamingo red, with

edges like the edges of curled ostrich feathers, lay up and down the sky at different altitudes. The roofs of the

town seemed to have sunk lower than usual; the cypresses appeared very black between the roofs, and the

roofs themselves were brown and white. As usual in the evening, single cries and single bells became audible

"Well, you must take the responsibility," he said. "I've made up my mind; I shall go to the Bar."

His words were very serious, almost emotional; they recalled Helen after a second's hesitation.

"I'm sure you're right," she said warmly, and shook the hand he held out. "You'll be a great man, I'm certain."

Then, as if to make him look at the scene, she swept her hand round the immense circumference of the view.

From the sea, over the roofs of the town, across the crests of the mountains, over the river and the plain, and

again across the crests of the mountains it swept until it reached the villa, the garden, the magnoliatree, and

the figures of Hirst and herself standing together, when it dropped to her side.

Hewet and Rachel had long ago reached the particular place on the edge of the cliff where, looking down into

the sea, you might chance on jellyfish and dolphins. Looking the other way, the vast expanse of land gave

them a sensation which is given by no view, however extended, in England; the villages and the hills there

having names, and the farthest horizon of hills as often as not dipping and showing a line of mist which is the

sea; here the view was one of infinite sundried earth, earth pointed in pinnacles, heaped in vast barriers,

earth widening and spreading away and away like the immense floor of the sea, earth chequered by day and

by night, and partitioned into different lands, where famous cities were founded, and the races of men

changed from dark savages to white civilised men, and back to dark savages again. Perhaps their English

blood made this prospect uncomfortably impersonal and hostile to them, for having once turned their faces

that way they next turned them to the sea, and for the rest of the time sat looking at the sea. The sea, though it

was a thin and sparkling water here, which seemed incapable of surge or anger, eventually narrowed itself,

clouded its pure tint with grey, and swirled through narrow channels and dashed in a shiver of broken waters

against massive granite rocks. It was this sea that flowed up to the mouth of the Thames; and the Thames

Hewet's thoughts had followed some such course as this, for the first thing he said as they stood on the edge

Rachel lay down on her elbow, and parted the tall grasses which grew on the edge, so that she might have a

clear view. The water was very calm; rocking up and down at the base of the cliff, and so clear that one could

see the red of the stones at the bottom of it. So it had been at the birth of the world, and so it had remained

ever since. Probably no human being had ever broken that water with boat or with body. Obeying some

impulse, she determined to mar that eternity of peace, and threw the largest pebble she could find. It struck

"It's wonderful," he said, as they widened and ceased. The freshness and the newness seemed to him

"But England," Rachel murmured in the absorbed tone of one whose eyes are concentrated upon some sight.

He could look at Rachel without her noticing it. She was still absorbed in the water and the exquisitely

pleasant sensations which a little depth of the sea washing over rocks suggests. He noticed that she was

wearing a dress of deep blue colour, made of a soft thin cotton stuff, which clung to the shape of her body. It

was a body with the angles and hollows of a young woman's body not yet developed, but in no way distorted,

and thus interesting and even lovable. Raising his eyes Hewet observed her head; she had taken her hat off,

and the face rested on her hand. As she looked down into the sea, her lips were slightly parted. The

expression was one of childlike intentness, as if she were watching for a fish to swim past over the clear red

rocks. Nevertheless her twentyfour years of life had given her a look of reserve. Her hand, which lay on the

ground, the fingers curling slightly in, was well shaped and competent; the squaretipped and nervous fingers

were the fingers of a musician. With something like anguish Hewet realised that, far from being unattractive,

her body was very attractive to him. She looked up suddenly. Her eyes were full of eagerness and interest.

For the moment he could not think what he was saying. He was overcome with the desire to hold her in his

"Novels," she repeated. "Why do you write novels? You ought to write music. Music, you see"she shifted

her eyes, and became less desirable as her brain began to work, inflicting a certain change upon her

face"music goes straight for things. It says all there is to say at once. With writing it seems to me there's so

much"she paused for an expression, and rubbed her fingers in the earth"scratching on the matchbox.

Most of the time when I was reading Gibbon this afternoon I was horribly, oh infernally, damnably bored!"

"Why is it," Rachel continued, "that I can laugh at Mr. Hirst to you, but not to his face? At tea I was

completely overwhelmed, not by his uglinessby his mind." She enclosed a circle in the air with her hands.

She realised with a great sense of comfort who easily she could talk to Hewet, those thorns or ragged corners

"So I observed," said Hewet. "That's a thing that never ceases to amaze me." He had recovered his composure

to such an extent that he could light and smoke a cigarette, and feeling her ease, became happy and easy

"The respect that women, even welleducated, very able women, have for men," he went on. "I believe we

must have the sort of power over you that we're said to have over horses. They see us three times as big as we

are or they'd never obey us. For that very reason, I'm inclined to doubt that you'll ever do anything even when

you have the vote." He looked at her reflectively. She appeared very smooth and sensitive and young. "It'll

take at least six generations before you're sufficiently thickskinned to go into law courts and business

offices. Consider what a bully the ordinary man is," he continued, "the ordinary hardworking, rather

ambitious solicitor or man of business with a family to bring up and a certain position to maintain. And then,

of course, the daughters have to give way to the sons; the sons have to be educated; they have to bully and

shove for their wives and families, and so it all comes over again. And meanwhile there are the women in the

"The vote?" Rachel repeated. She had to visualise it as a little bit of paper which she dropped into a box

before she understood his question, and looking at each other they smiled at something absurd in the

"Not to me," she said. "But I play the piano. . . . Are men really like that?" she asked, returning to the

question that interested her. "I'm not afraid of you." She looked at him easily.

"Oh, I'm different," Hewet replied. "I've got between six and seven hundred a year of my own. And then no

one takes a novelist seriously, thank heavens. There's no doubt it helps to make up for the drudgery of a

profession if a man's taken very, very seriously by every one if he gets appointments, and has offices and a

title, and lots of letters after his name, and bits of ribbon and degrees. I don't grudge it 'em, though sometimes

it comes over mewhat an amazing concoction! What a miracle the masculine conception of life

isjudges, civil servants, army, navy, Houses of Parliament, lord mayorswhat a world we've made of it!

Look at Hirst now. I assure you," he said, "not a day's passed since we came here without a discussion as to

whether he's to stay on at Cambridge or to go to the Bar. It's his careerhis sacred career. And if I've heard it

twenty times, I'm sure his mother and sister have heard it five hundred times. Can't you imagine the family

conclaves, and the sister told to run out and feed the rabbits because St. John must have the schoolroom to

himself'St. John's working,' 'St. John wants his tea brought to him.' Don't you know the kind of thing? No

wonder that St. John thinks it a matter of considerable importance. It is too. He has to earn his living. But St.

John's sister" Hewet puffed in silence. "No one takes her seriously, poor dear. She feeds the rabbits."

"Yes," said Rachel. "I've fed rabbits for twentyfour years; it seems odd now." She looked meditative, and

Hewet, who had been talking much at random and instinctively adopting the feminine point of view, saw that

she would now talk about herself, which was what he wanted, for so they might come to know each other.

She meditated still. When she thought of their day it seemed to her it was cut into four pieces by their meals.

These divisions were absolutely rigid, the contents of the day having to accommodate themselves within the

"Then I went shopping with one of my aunts. Or we went to see some one, or we took a message; or we did

something that had to be done the taps might be leaking. They visit the poor a good deal old

charwomen with bad legs, women who want tickets for hospitals. Or I used to walk in the park by myself.

And after tea people sometimes called; or in summer we sat in the garden or played croquet; in winter I read

aloud, while they worked; after dinner I played the piano and they wrote letters. If father was at home we had

friends of his to dinner, and about once a month we went up to the play. Every now and then we dined out;

sometimes I went to a dance in London, but that was difficult because of getting back. The people we saw

were old family friends, and relations, but we didn't see many people. There was the clergyman, Mr. Pepper,

and the Hunts. Father generally wanted to be quiet when he came home, because he works very hard at Hull.

Also my aunts aren't very strong. A house takes up a lot of time if you do it properly. Our servants were

always bad, and so Aunt Lucy used to do a good deal in the kitchen, and Aunt Clara, I think, spent most of

the morning dusting the drawingroom and going through the linen and silver. Then there were the dogs.

They had to be exercised, besides being washed and brushed. Now Sandy's dead, but Aunt Clara has a very

old cockatoo that came from India. Everything in our house," she exclaimed, "comes from somewhere! It's

full of old furniture, not really old, Victorian, things mother's family had or father's family had, which they

didn't like to get rid of, I suppose, though we've really no room for them. It's rather a nice house," she

continued, "except that it's a little dingydull I should say." She called up before her eyes a vision of the

drawingroom at home; it was a large oblong room, with a square window opening on the garden. Green

plush chairs stood against the wall; there was a heavy carved bookcase, with glass doors, and a general

impression of faded sofa covers, large spaces of pale green, and baskets with pieces of woolwork dropping

out of them. Photographs from old Italian masterpieces hung on the walls, and views of Venetian bridges and

Swedish waterfalls which members of the family had seen years ago. There were also one or two portraits of

fathers and grandmothers, and an engraving of John Stuart Mill, after the picture by Watts. It was a room

without definite character, being neither typically and openly hideous, nor strenuously artistic, nor really

comfortable. Rachel roused herself from the contemplation of this familiar picture.

"Good Lord!" Hewet exclaimed. "I've never been so much interested in my life." She then realised that while

she had been thinking of Richmond, his eyes had never left her face. The knowledge of this excited her.

"Go on, please go on," he urged. "Let's imagine it's a Wednesday. You're all at luncheon. You sit there, and

Aunt Lucy there, and Aunt Clara here"; he arranged three pebbles on the grass between them.

"Aunt Clara carves the neck of lamb," Rachel continued. She fixed her gaze upon the pebbles. "There's a very

ugly yellow china stand in front of me, called a dumb waiter, on which are three dishes, one for biscuits, one

for butter, and one for cheese. There's a pot of ferns. Then there's Blanche the maid, who snuffles because of

her nose. We talkoh yes, it's Aunt Lucy's afternoon at Walworth, so we're rather quick over luncheon. She

goes off. She has a purple bag, and a black notebook. Aunt Clara has what they call a G.F.S. meeting in the

drawingroom on Wednesday, so I take the dogs out. I go up Richmond Hill, along the terrace, into the park.

It's the 18th of Aprilthe same day as it is here. It's spring in England. The ground is rather damp. However,

I cross the road and get on to the grass and we walk along, and I sing as I always do when I'm alone, until we

come to the open place where you can see the whole of London beneath you on a clear day. Hampstead

Church spire there, Westminster Cathedral over there, and factory chimneys about here. There's generally a

haze over the low parts of London; but it's often blue over the park when London's in a mist. It's the open

place that the balloons cross going over to Hurlingham. They're pale yellow. Well, then, it smells very good,

particularly if they happen to be burning wood in the keeper's lodge which is there. I could tell you now how

to get from place to place, and exactly what trees you'd pass, and where you'd cross the roads. You see, I

played there when I was small. Spring is good, but it's best in the autumn when the deer are barking; then it

gets dusky, and I go back through the streets, and you can't see people properly; they come past very quick,

you just see their faces and then they're gonethat's what I likeand no one knows in the least what you're

"Tea? Oh yes. Five o'clock. Then I say what I've done, and my aunts say what they've done, and perhaps

some one comes in: Mrs. Hunt, let's suppose. She's an old lady with a lame leg. She has or she once had eight

children; so we ask after them. They're all over the world; so we ask where they are, and sometimes they're

ill, or they're stationed in a cholera district, or in some place where it only rains once in five months. Mrs.

Here she stopped and looked at Hewet to see whether he was amused by the same things that amused her. She

was reassured. But she thought it necessary to apologise again; she had been talking too much.

"You can't conceive how it interests me," he said. Indeed, his cigarette had gone out, and he had to light

"Partly because you're a woman," he replied. When he said this, Rachel, who had become oblivious of

anything, and had reverted to a childlike state of interest and pleasure, lost her freedom and became

selfconscious. She felt herself at once singular and under observation, as she felt with St. John Hirst. She

was about to launch into an argument which would have made them both feel bitterly against each other, and

to define sensations which had no such importance as words were bound to give them when Hewet led her

"I've often walked along the streets where people live all in a row, and one house is exactly like another

house, and wondered what on earth the women were doing inside," he said. "Just consider: it's the beginning

of the twentieth century, and until a few years ago no woman had ever come out by herself and said things at

all. There it was going on in the background, for all those thousands of years, this curious silent

unrepresented life. Of course we're always writing about womenabusing them, or jeering at them, or

worshipping them; but it's never come from women themselves. I believe we still don't know in the least how

they live, or what they feel, or what they do precisely. If one's a man, the only confidences one gets are from

young women about their love affairs. But the lives of women of forty, of unmarried women, of working

women, of women who keep shops and bring up children, of women like your aunts or Mrs. Thornbury or

Miss Allan one knows nothing whatever about them. They won't tell you. Either they're afraid, or they've

got a way of treating men. It's the man's view that's represented, you see. Think of a railway train: fifteen

carriages for men who want to smoke. Doesn't it make your blood boil? If I were a woman I'd blow some

one's brains out. Don't you laugh at us a great deal? Don't you think it all a great humbug? You, I

His determination to know, while it gave meaning to their talk, hampered her; he seemed to press further and

further, and made it appear so important. She took some time to answer, and during that time she went over

and over the course of her twentyfour years, lighting now on one point, now on anotheron her aunts, her

mother, her father, and at last her mind fixed upon her aunts and her father, and she tried to describe them as

They were very much afraid of her father. He was a great dim force in the house, by means of which they

held on to the great world which is represented every morning in the _Times_. But the real life of the house

was something quite different from this. It went on independently of Mr. Vinrace, and tended to hide itself

from him. He was goodhumoured towards them, but contemptuous. She had always taken it for granted that

his point of view was just, and founded upon an ideal scale of things where the life of one person was

absolutely more important than the life of another, and that in that scale they were much less importance than

he was. But did she really believe that? Hewet's words made her think. She always submitted to her father,

just as they did, but it was her aunts who influenced her really; her aunts who built up the fine, closely woven

substance of their life at home. They were less splendid but more natural than her father was. All her rages

had been against them; it was their world with its four meals, its punctuality, and servants on the stairs at

halfpast ten, that she examined so closely and wanted so vehemently to smash to atoms. Following these

"And there's a sort of beauty in itthere they are at Richmond at this very moment building things up.

They're all wrong, perhaps, but there's a sort of beauty in it," she repeated. "It's so unconscious, so modest.

And yet they feel things. They do mind if people die. Old spinsters are always doing things. I don't quite

know what they do. Only that was what I felt when I lived with them. It was very real."

She reviewed their little journeys to and fro, to Walworth, to charwomen with bad legs, to meetings for this

and that, their minute acts of charity and unselfishness which flowered punctually from a definite view of

what they ought to do, their friendships, their tastes and habits; she saw all these things like grains of sand

falling, falling through innumerable days, making an atmosphere and building up a solid mass, a background.

Again she had become absorbed in something else, and he called her back to an unusually vivid

"I was both," she replied. "I was happy and I was miserable. You've no conception what it's liketo be a

young woman." She looked straight at him. "There are terrors and agonies," she said, keeping her eye on him

"And then," she began and stopped. Here came in the great space of life into which no one had ever

penetrated. All that she had been saying about her father and her aunts and walks in Richmond Park, and

what they did from hour to hour, was merely on the surface. Hewet was watching her. Did he demand that

she should describe that also? Why did he sit so near and keep his eye on her? Why did they not have done

with this searching and agony? Why did they not kiss each other simply? She wished to kiss him. But all the

"A girl is more lonely than a boy. No one cares in the least what she does. Nothing's expected of her. Unless

one's very pretty people don't listen to what you say. . . . And that is what I like," she added energetically, as

if the memory were very happy. "I like walking in Richmond Park and singing to myself and knowing it

doesn't matter a damn to anybody. I like seeing things go onas we saw you that night when you didn't see

us I love the freedom of itit's like being the wind or the sea." She turned with a curious fling of her

hands and looked at the sea. It was still very blue, dancing away as far as the eye could reach, but the light on

A feeling of intense depression crossed Hewet's mind as she spoke. It seemed plain that she would never care

for one person rather than another; she was evidently quite indifferent to him; they seemed to come very near,

and then they were as far apart as ever again; and her gesture as she turned away had been oddly beautiful.

"Nonsense," he said abruptly. "You like people. You like admiration. Your real grudge against Hirst is that he

"That's probably true. Of course I like peopleI like almost every one I've ever met."

She turned her back on the sea and regarded Hewet with friendly if critical eyes. He was goodlooking in the

sense that he had always had a sufficiency of beef to eat and fresh air to breathe. His head was big; the eyes

were also large; though generally vague they could be forcible; and the lips were sensitive. One might

account him a man of considerable passion and fitful energy, likely to be at the mercy of moods which had

little relation to facts; at once tolerant and fastidious. The breadth of his forehead showed capacity for

"I want to write a novel about Silence," he said; "the things people don't say. But the difficulty is immense."

He sighed. "However, you don't care," he continued. He looked at her almost severely. "Nobody cares. All

you read a novel for is to see what sort of person the writer is, and, if you know him, which of his friends he's

put in. As for the novel itself, the whole conception, the way one's seen the thing, felt about it, make it stand

in relation to other things, not one in a million cares for that. And yet I sometimes wonder whether there's

anything else in the whole world worth doing. These other people," he indicated the hotel, "are always

wanting something they can't get. But there's an extraordinary satisfaction in writing, even in the attempt to

write. What you said just now is true: one doesn't want to be things; one wants merely to be allowed to see

Some of the satisfaction of which he spoke came into his face as he gazed out to sea.

It was Rachel's turn now to feel depressed. As he talked of writing he had become suddenly impersonal. He

might never care for any one; all that desire to know her and get at her, which she had felt pressing on her

"Yes," he said. "I'm not firstrate, of course; I'm good secondrate; about as good as Thackeray, I should

Rachel was amazed. For one thing it amazed her to hear Thackeray called secondrate; and then she could

not widen her point of view to believe that there could be great writers in existence at the present day, or if

there were, that any one she knew could be a great writer, and his selfconfidence astounded her, and he

"My other novel," Hewet continued, "is about a young man who is obsessed by an ideathe idea of being a

gentleman. He manages to exist at Cambridge on a hundred pounds a year. He has a coat; it was once a very

good coat. But the trousers they're not so good. Well, he goes up to London, gets into good society, owing

to an earlymorning adventure on the banks of the Serpentine. He is led into telling liesmy idea, you see,

is to show the gradual corruption of the soulcalls himself the son of some great landed proprietor in

Devonshire. Meanwhile the coat becomes older and older, and he hardly dares to wear the trousers. Can't you

imagine the wretched man, after some splendid evening of debauchery, contemplating these

garmentshanging them over the end of the bed, arranging them now in full light, now in shade, and

wondering whether they will survive him, or he will survive them? Thoughts of suicide cross his mind. He

has a friend, too, a man who somehow subsists upon selling small birds, for which he sets traps in the fields

near Uxbridge. They're scholars, both of them. I know one or two wretched starving creatures like that who

quote Aristotle at you over a fried herring and a pint of porter. Fashionable life, too, I have to represent at

some length, in order to show my hero under all circumstances. Lady Theo Bingham Bingley, whose bay

mare he had the good fortune to stop, is the daughter of a very fine old Tory peer. I'm going to describe the

kind of parties I once went tothe fashionable intellectuals, you know, who like to have the latest book on

their tables. They give parties, river parties, parties where you play games. There's no difficulty in conceiving

incidents; the difficulty is to put them into shapenot to get run away with, as Lady Theo was. It ended

disastrously for her, poor woman, for the book, as I planned it, was going to end in profound and sordid

respectability. Disowned by her father, she marries my hero, and they live in a snug little villa outside

Croydon, in which town he is set up as a house agent. He never succeeds in becoming a real gentleman after

all. That's the interesting part of it. Does it seem to you the kind of book you'd like to read?" he enquired; "or

perhaps you'd like my Stuart tragedy better," he continued, without waiting for her to answer him. "My idea

is that there's a certain quality of beauty in the past, which the ordinary historical novelist completely ruins by

his absurd conventions. The moon becomes the Regent of the Skies. People clap spurs to their horses, and so

on. I'm going to treat people as though they were exactly the same as we are. The advantage is that, detached

from modern conditions, one can make them more intense and more abstract then people who live as we do."

Rachel had listened to all this with attention, but with a certain amount of bewilderment. They both sat

"I'm not like Hirst," said Hewet, after a pause; he spoke meditatively; "I don't see circles of chalk between

people's feet. I sometimes wish I did. It seems to me so tremendously complicated and confused. One can't

come to any decision at all; one's less and less capable of making judgments. D'you find that? And then one

never knows what any one feels. We're all in the dark. We try to find out, but can you imagine anything more

ludicrous than one person's opinion of another person? One goes along thinking one knows; but one really

As he said this he was leaning on his elbow arranging and rearranging in the grass the stones which had

represented Rachel and her aunts at luncheon. He was speaking as much to himself as to Rachel. He was

reasoning against the desire, which had returned with intensity, to take her in his arms; to have done with

indirectness; to explain exactly what he felt. What he said was against his belief; all the things that were

important about her he knew; he felt them in the air around them; but he said nothing; he went on arranging

"I like you immensely," Hewet replied, speaking with the relief of a person who is unexpectedly given an

She looked up with a sudden rush of delight, and in looking at Terence with eyes widened by pleasure she

was struck by the change that had come over the sky behind them. The substantial blue day had faded to a

paler and more ethereal blue; the clouds were pink, far away and closely packed together; and the peace of

evening had replaced the heat of the southern afternoon, in which they had started on their walk.

"But eight o'clock doesn't count here, does it?" Terence asked, as they got up and turned inland again. They

began to walk rather quickly down the hill on a little path between the olive trees.

They felt more intimate because they shared the knowledge of what eight o'clock in Richmond meant.

"What I want to do in writing novels is very much what you want to do when you play the piano, I expect,"

he began, turning and speaking over his shoulder. "We want to find out what's behind things, don't we?

Look at the lights down there," he continued, "scattered about anyhow. Things I feel come to me like lights. .

. . I want to combine them. . . . Have you ever seen fireworks that make figures? . . . I want to make figures. .

"When I play the piano? Music is different. . . . But I see what you mean." They tried to invent theories and to

make their theories agree. As Hewet had no knowledge of music, Rachel took his stick and drew figures in

"My musical gift was ruined," he explained, as they walked on after one of these demonstrations, "by the

village organist at home, who had invented a system of notation which he tried to teach me, with the result

that I never got to the tuneplaying at all. My mother thought music wasn't manly for boys; she wanted me to

kill rats and birdsthat's the worst of living in the country. We live in Devonshire. It's the loveliest place in

the world. Onlyit's always difficult at home when one's grown up. I'd like you to know one of my sisters. .

. . Oh, here's your gate" He pushed it open. They paused for a moment. She could not ask him to come in.

She could not say that she hoped they would meet again; there was nothing to be said, and so without a word

she went through the gate, and was soon invisible. Directly Hewet lost sight of her, he felt the old discomfort

return, even more strongly than before. Their talk had been interrupted in the middle, just as he was

beginning to say the things he wanted to say. After all, what had they been able to say? He ran his mind over

the things they had said, the random, unnecessary things which had eddied round and round and used up all

the time, and drawn them so close together and flung them so far apart, and left him in the end unsatisfied,

ignorant still of what she felt and of what she was like. What was the use of talking, talking, merely talking?

It was now the height of the season, and every ship that came from England left a few people on the shores of

Santa Marina who drove up to the hotel. The fact that the Ambroses had a house where one could escape

momentarily from the slightly inhuman atmosphere of an hotel was a source of genuine pleasure not only to

Hirst and Hewet, but to the Elliots, the Thornburys, the Flushings, Miss Allan, Evelyn M., together with other

people whose identity was so little developed that the Ambroses did not discover that they possessed names.

By degrees there was established a kind of correspondence between the two houses, the big and the small, so

that at most hours of the day one house could guess what was going on in the other, and the words "the villa"

and "the hotel" called up the idea of two separate systems of life. Acquaintances showed signs of developing

into friends, for that one tie to Mrs. Parry's drawingroom had inevitably split into many other ties attached to

different parts of England, and sometimes these alliances seemed cynically fragile, and sometimes painfully

acute, lacking as they did the supporting background of organised English life. One night when the moon was

round between the trees, Evelyn M. told Helen the story of her life, and claimed her everlasting friendship; or

another occasion, merely because of a sigh, or a pause, or a word thoughtlessly dropped, poor Mrs. Elliot left

the villa half in tears, vowing never again to meet the cold and scornful woman who had insulted her, and in

truth, meet again they never did. It did not seem worth while to piece together so slight a friendship.

Hewet, indeed, might have found excellent material at this time up at the villa for some chapters in the novel

which was to be called "Silence, or the Things People don't say." Helen and Rachel had become very silent.

Having detected, as she thought, a secret, and judging that Rachel meant to keep it from her, Mrs. Ambrose

respected it carefully, but from that cause, though unintentionally, a curious atmosphere of reserve grew up

between them. Instead of sharing their views upon all subjects, and plunging after an idea wherever it might

lead, they spoke chiefly in comment upon the people they saw, and the secret between them made itself felt in

what they said even of Thornburys and Elliots. Always calm and unemotional in her judgments, Mrs.

Ambrose was now inclined to be definitely pessimistic. She was not severe upon individuals so much as

incredulous of the kindness of destiny, fate, what happens in the long run, and apt to insist that this was

generally adverse to people in proportion as they deserved well. Even this theory she was ready to discard in

favour of one which made chaos triumphant, things happening for no reason at all, and every one groping

about in illusion and ignorance. With a certain pleasure she developed these views to her niece, taking a letter

from home as her test: which gave good news, but might just as well have given bad. How did she know that

at this very moment both her children were not lying dead, crushed by motor omnibuses? "It's happening to

somebody: why shouldn't it happen to me?" she would argue, her face taking on the stoical expression of

anticipated sorrow. however sincere these views may have been, they were undoubtedly called forth by the

irrational state of her niece's mind. It was so fluctuating, and went so quickly from joy to despair, that it

seemed necessary to confront it with some stable opinion which naturally became dark as well as stable.

Perhaps Mrs. Ambrose had some idea that in leading the talk into these quarters she might discover what was

in Rachel's mind, but it was difficult to judge, for sometimes she would agree with the gloomiest thing that

was said, at other times she refused to listen, and rammed Helen's theories down her throat with laughter,

chatter, ridicule of the wildest, and fierce bursts of anger even at what she called the "croaking of a raven in

Helen might draw her own conclusions as to why life was hard, as to why an hour later, perhaps, life was

something so wonderful and vivid that the eyes of Rachel beholding it were positively exhilarating to a

spectator. True to her creed, she did not attempt to interfere, although there were enough of those weak

moments of depression to make it perfectly easy for a less scrupulous person to press through and know all,

and perhaps Rachel was sorry that she did not choose. All these moods ran themselves into one general

effect, which Helen compared to the sliding of a river, quick, quicker, quicker still, as it races to a waterfall.

Her instinct was to cry out Stop! but even had there been any use in crying Stop! she would have refrained,

thinking it best that things should take their way, the water racing because the earth was shaped to make it

It seemed that Rachel herself had no suspicion that she was watched, or that there was anything in her manner

likely to draw attention to her. What had happened to her she did not know. Her mind was very much in the

condition of the racing water to which Helen compared it. She wanted to see Terence; she was perpetually

wishing to see him when he was not there; it was an agony to miss seeing him; agonies were strewn all about

her day on account of him, but she never asked herself what this force driving through her life arose from.

She thought of no result any more than a tree perpetually pressed downwards by the wind considers the result

During the two or three weeks which had passed since their walk, half a dozen notes from him had

accumulated in her drawer. She would read them, and spend the whole morning in a daze of happiness; the

sunny land outside the window being no less capable of analysing its own colour and heat than she was of

analysing hers. In these moods she found it impossible to read or play the piano, even to move being beyond

her inclination. The time passed without her noticing it. When it was dark she was drawn to the window by

the lights of the hotel. A light that went in and out was the light in Terence's window: there he sat, reading

perhaps, or now he was walking up and down pulling out one book after another; and now he was seated in

his chair again, and she tried to imagine what he was thinking about. The steady lights marked the rooms

where Terence sat with people moving round him. Every one who stayed in the hotel had a peculiar romance

and interest about them. They were not ordinary people. She would attribute wisdom to Mrs. Elliot, beauty to

Susan Warrington, a splendid vitality to Evelyn M., because Terence spoke to them. As unreflecting and

pervasive were the moods of depression. Her mind was as the landscape outside when dark beneath clouds

and straitly lashed by wind and hail. Again she would sit passive in her chair exposed to pain, and Helen's

fantastical or gloomy words were like so many darts goading her to cry out against the hardness of life. Best

of all were the moods when for no reason again this stress of feeling slackened, and life went on as usual,

only with a joy and colour in its events that was unknown before; they had a significance like that which she

had seen in the tree: the nights were black bars separating her from the days; she would have liked to run all

the days into one long continuity of sensation. Although these moods were directly or indirectly caused by

the presence of Terence or the thought of him, she never said to herself that she was in love with him, or

considered what was to happen if she continued to feel such things, so that Helen's image of the river sliding

on to the waterfall had a great likeness to the facts, and the alarm which Helen sometimes felt was justified.

In her curious condition of unanalysed sensations she was incapable of making a plan which should have any

effect upon her state of mind. She abandoned herself to the mercy of accidents, missing Terence one day,

meeting him the next, receiving his letters always with a start of surprise. Any woman experienced in the

progress of courtship would have come by certain opinions from all this which would have given her at least

a theory to go upon; but no one had ever been in love with Rachel, and she had never been in love with any

one. Moreover, none of the books she read, from _Wuthering_ _Heights_ to _Man_ _and_ _Superman_, and

the plays of Ibsen, suggested from their analysis of love that what their heroines felt was what she was feeling

She met Terence frequently. When they did not meet, he was apt to send a note with a book or about a book,

for he had not been able after all to neglect that approach to intimacy. But sometimes he did not come or did

not write for several days at a time. Again when they met their meeting might be one of inspiriting joy or of

harassing despair. Over all their partings hung the sense of interruption, leaving them both unsatisfied, though

If Rachel was ignorant of her own feelings, she was even more completely ignorant of his. At first he moved

as a god; as she came to know him better he was still the centre of light, but combined with this beauty a

wonderful power of making her daring and confident of herself. She was conscious of emotions and powers

which she had never suspected in herself, and of a depth in the world hitherto unknown. When she thought of

their relationship she saw rather than reasoned, representing her view of what Terence felt by a picture of him

drawn across the room to stand by her side. This passage across the room amounted to a physical sensation,

Thus the time went on, wearing a calm, bright look upon its surface. Letters came from England, letters came

from Willoughby, and the days accumulated their small events which shaped the year. Superficially, three

odes of Pindar were mended, Helen covered about five inches of her embroidery, and St. John completed the

first two acts of a play. He and Rachel being now very good friends, he read them aloud to her, and she was

so genuinely impressed by the skill of his rhythms and the variety of his adjectives, as well as by the fact that

he was Terence's friend, that he began to wonder whether he was not intended for literature rather than for

law. It was a time of profound thought and sudden revelations for more than one couple, and several single

A Sunday came, which no one in the villa with the exception of Rachel and the Spanish maid proposed to

recognise. Rachel still went to church, because she had never, according to Helen, taken the trouble to think

about it. Since they had celebrated the service at the hotel she went there expecting to get some pleasure from

her passage across the garden and through the hall of the hotel, although it was very doubtful whether she

As the greater number of visitors at the hotel were English, there was almost as much difference between

Sunday and Wednesday as there is in England, and Sunday appeared here as there, the mute black ghost or

penitent spirit of the busy weekday. The English could not pale the sunshine, but they could in some

miraculous way slow down the hours, dull the incidents, lengthen the meals, and make even the servants and

pageboys wear a look of boredom and propriety. The best clothes which every one put on helped the general

effect; it seemed that no lady could sit down without bending a clean starched petticoat, and no gentleman

could breathe without a sudden crackle from a stiff shirtfront. As the hands of the clock neared eleven, on

this particular Sunday, various people tended to draw together in the hall, clasping little redleaved books in

their hands. The clock marked a few minutes to the hour when a stout black figure passed through the hall

with a preoccupied expression, as though he would rather not recognise salutations, although aware of them,

The little group of people then began to move off in the same direction as the stout black figure. Looked at in

an odd way by people who made no effort to join them, they moved with one exception slowly and

consciously towards the stairs. Mrs. Flushing was the exception. She came running downstairs, strode across

the hall, joined the procession much out of breath, demanding of Mrs. Thornbury in an agitated whisper,

"We are all going," said Mrs. Thornbury gently, and soon they were descending the stairs two by two. Rachel

was among the first to descend. She did not see that Terence and Hirst came in at the rear possessed of no

black volume, but of one thin book bound in lightblue cloth, which St. John carried under his arm.

The chapel was the old chapel of the monks. It was a profound cool place where they had said Mass for

hundreds of years, and done penance in the cold moonlight, and worshipped old brown pictures and carved

saints which stood with upraised hands of blessing in the hollows in the walls. The transition from Catholic to

Protestant worship had been bridged by a time of disuse, when there were no services, and the place was used

for storing jars of oil, liqueur, and deckchairs; the hotel flourishing, some religious body had taken the place

in hand, and it was now fitted out with a number of glazed yellow benches, claretcoloured footstools; it had

a small pulpit, and a brass eagle carrying the Bible on its back, while the piety of different women had

supplied ugly squares of carpet, and long strips of embroidery heavily wrought with monograms in gold.

As the congregation entered they were met by mild sweet chords issuing from a harmonium, where Miss

Willett, concealed from view by a baize curtain, struck emphatic chords with uncertain fingers. The sound

spread through the chapel as the rings of water spread from a fallen stone. The twenty or twentyfive people

who composed the congregation first bowed their heads and then sat up and looked about them. It was very

quiet, and the light down here seemed paler than the light above. The usual bows and smiles were dispensed

with, but they recognised each other. The Lord's Prayer was read over them. As the childlike battle of voices

rose, the congregation, many of whom had only met on the staircase, felt themselves pathetically united and

welldisposed towards each other. As if the prayer were a torch applied to fuel, a smoke seemed to rise

automatically and fill the place with the ghosts of innumerable services on innumerable Sunday mornings at

home. Susan Warrington in particular was conscious of the sweetest sense of sisterhood, as she covered her

face with her hands and saw slips of bent backs through the chinks between her fingers. Her emotions rose

calmly and evenly, approving of herself and of life at the same time. It was all so quiet and so good. But

having created this peaceful atmosphere Mr. Bax suddenly turned the page and read a psalm. Though he read

"Be merciful unto me, O God," he read, "for man goeth about to devour me: he is daily fighting and troubling

me. . . . They daily mistake my words: all that they imagine is to do me evil. They hold all together and keep

themselves close. . . . Break their teeth, O God, in their mouths; smite the jawbones of the lions, O Lord: let

them fall away like water that runneth apace; and when they shoot their arrows let them be rooted out."

Nothing in Susan's experience at all corresponded with this, and as she had no love of language she had long

ceased to attend to such remarks, although she followed them with the same kind of mechanical respect with

which she heard many of Lear's speeches read aloud. Her mind was still serene and really occupied with

praise of her own nature and praise of God, that is of the solemn and satisfactory order of the world.

But it could be seen from a glance at their faces that most of the others, the men in particular, felt the

inconvenience of the sudden intrusion of this old savage. They looked more secular and critical as then

listened to the ravings of the old black man with a cloth round his loins cursing with vehement gesture by a

campfire in the desert. After that there was a general sound of pages being turned as if they were in class,

and then they read a little bit of the Old Testament about making a well, very much as school boys translate

an easy passage from the _Anabasis_ when they have shut up their French grammar. Then they returned to

the New Testament and the sad and beautiful figure of Christ. While Christ spoke they made another effort to

fit his interpretation of life upon the lives they lived, but as they were all very different, some practical, some

ambitious, some stupid, some wild and experimental, some in love, and others long past any feeling except a

From their faces it seemed that for the most part they made no effort at all, and, recumbent as it were,

accepted the ideas the words gave as representing goodness, in the same way, no doubt, as one of those

industrious needlewomen had accepted the bright ugly pattern on her mat as beauty.

Whatever the reason might be, for the first time in her life, instead of slipping at once into some curious

pleasant cloud of emotion, too familiar to be considered, Rachel listened critically to what was being said. By

the time they had swung in an irregular way from prayer to psalm, from psalm to history, from history to

poetry, and Mr. Bax was giving out his text, she was in a state of acute discomfort. Such was the discomfort

she felt when forced to sit through an unsatisfactory piece of music badly played. Tantalised, enraged by the

clumsy insensitiveness of the conductor, who put the stress on the wrong places, and annoyed by the vast

flock of the audience tamely praising and acquiescing without knowing or caring, so she was not tantalized

and enraged, only here, with eyes halfshut and lips pursed together, the atmosphere of forced solemnity

increased her anger. All round her were people pretending to feel what they did not feel, while somewhere

above her floated the idea which they could none of them grasp, which they pretended to grasp, always

escaping out of reach, a beautiful idea, an idea like a butterfly. One after another, vast and hard and cold,

appeared to her the churches all over the world where this blundering effort and misunderstanding were

perpetually going on, great buildings, filled with innumerable men and women, not seeing clearly, who

finally gave up the effort to see, and relapsed tamely into praise and acquiescence, halfshutting their eyes

and pursing up their lips. The thought had the same sort of physical discomfort as is caused by a film of mist

always coming between the eyes and the printed page. She did her best to brush away the film and to

conceive something to be worshipped as the service went on, but failed, always misled by the voice of Mr.

Bax saying things which misrepresented the idea, and by the patter of baaing inexpressive human voices

falling round her like damp leaves. The effort was tiring and dispiriting. She ceased to listen, and fixed her

eyes on the face of a woman near her, a hospital nurse, whose expression of devout attention seemed to prove

that she was at any rate receiving satisfaction. But looking at her carefully she came to the conclusion that the

hospital nurse was only slavishly acquiescent, and that the look of satisfaction was produced by no splendid

conception of God within her. How indeed, could she conceive anything far outside her own experience, a

woman with a commonplace face like hers, a little round red face, upon which trivial duties and trivial spites

had drawn lines, whose weak blue eyes saw without intensity or individuality, whose features were blurred,

insensitive, and callous? She was adoring something shallow and smug, clinging to it, so the obstinate mouth

witnessed, with the assiduity of a limpet; nothing would tear her from her demure belief in her own virtue and

the virtues of her religion. She was a limpet, with the sensitive side of her stuck to a rock, for ever dead to the

rush of fresh and beautiful things past her. The face of this single worshipper became printed on Rachel's

mind with an impression of keen horror, and she had it suddenly revealed to her what Helen meant and St.

John meant when they proclaimed their hatred of Christianity. With the violence that now marked her

Meanwhile Mr. Bax was halfway through the second lesson. She looked at him. He was a man of the world

with supple lips and an agreeable manner, he was indeed a man of much kindliness and simplicity, though by

no means clever, but she was not in the mood to give any one credit for such qualities, and examined him as

Right at the back of the chapel Mrs. Flushing, Hirst, and Hewet sat in a row in a very different frame of mind.

Hewet was staring at the roof with his legs stuck out in front of him, for as he had never tried to make the

service fit any feeling or idea of his, he was able to enjoy the beauty of the language without hindrance. His

mind was occupied first with accidental things, such as the women's hair in front of him, the light on the

faces, then with the words which seemed to him magnificent, and then more vaguely with the characters of

the other worshippers. But when he suddenly perceived Rachel, all these thoughts were driven out of his

head, and he thought only of her. The psalms, the prayers, the Litany, and the sermon were all reduced to one

chanting sound which paused, and then renewed itself, a little higher or a little lower. He stared alternately at

Rachel and at the ceiling, but his expression was now produced not by what he saw but by something in his

Early in the service Mrs. Flushing had discovered that she had taken up a Bible instead of a prayerbook,

and, as she was sitting next to Hirst, she stole a glance over his shoulder. He was reading steadily in the thin

paleblue volume. Unable to understand, she peered closer, upon which Hirst politely laid the book before

her, pointing to the first line of a Greek poem and then to the translation opposite.

"Sappho," he replied. "The one Swinburne didthe best thing that's ever been written."

Mrs. Flushing could not resist such an opportunity. She gulped down the Ode to Aphrodite during the Litany,

keeping herself with difficulty from asking when Sappho lived, and what else she wrote worth reading, and

contriving to come in punctually at the end with "the forgiveness of sins, the Resurrection of the body, and

Meanwhile Hirst took out an envelope and began scribbling on the back of it. When Mr. Bax mounted the

pulpit he shut up Sappho with his envelope between the pages, settled his spectacles, and fixed his gaze

intently upon the clergyman. Standing in the pulpit he looked very large and fat; the light coming through the

greenish unstained windowglass made his face appear smooth and white like a very large egg.

He looked round at all the faces looking mildly up at him, although some of them were the faces of men and

women old enough to be his grandparents, and gave out his text with weighty significance. The argument of

the sermon was that visitors to this beautiful land, although they were on a holiday, owed a duty to the

natives. It did not, in truth, differ very much from a leading article upon topics of general interest in the

weekly newspapers. It rambled with a kind of amiable verbosity from one heading to another, suggesting that

all human beings are very much the same under their skins, illustrating this by the resemblance of the games

which little Spanish boys play to the games little boys in London streets play, observing that very small

things do influence people, particularly natives; in fact, a very dear friend of Mr. Bax's had told him that the

success of our rule in India, that vast country, largely depended upon the strict code of politeness which the

English adopted towards the natives, which led to the remark that small things were not necessarily small,

and that somehow to the virtue of sympathy, which was a virtue never more needed than today, when we

lived in a time of experiment and upheaval witness the aeroplane and wireless telegraph, and there were

other problems which hardly presented themselves to our fathers, but which no man who called himself a

man could leave unsettled. Here Mr. Bax became more definitely clerical, if it were possible, he seemed to

speak with a certain innocent craftiness, as he pointed out that all this laid a special duty upon earnest

Christians. What men were inclined to say now was, "Oh, that fellowhe's a parson." What we want them to

say is, "He's a good fellow"in other words, "He is my brother." He exhorted them to keep in touch with

men of the modern type; they must sympathise with their multifarious interests in order to keep before their

eyes that whatever discoveries were made there was one discovery which could not be superseded, which was

indeed as much of a necessity to the most successful and most brilliant of them all as it had been to their

fathers. The humblest could help; the least important things had an influence (here his manner became

definitely priestly and his remarks seemed to be directed to women, for indeed Mr. Bax's congregations were

mainly composed of women, and he was used to assigning them their duties in his innocent clerical

campaigns). Leaving more definite instruction, he passed on, and his theme broadened into a peroration for

which he drew a long breath and stood very upright,"As a drop of water, detached, alone, separate from

others, falling from the cloud and entering the great ocean, alters, so scientists tell us, not only the immediate

spot in the ocean where it falls, but all the myriad drops which together compose the great universe of waters,

and by this means alters the configuration of the globe and the lives of millions of sea creatures, and finally

the lives of the men and women who seek their living upon the shores as all this is within the compass of a

single drop of water, such as any rain shower sends in millions to lose themselves in the earth, to lose

themselves we say, but we know very well that the fruits of the earth could not flourish without them so is

a marvel comparable to this within the reach of each one of us, who dropping a little word or a little deed into

the great universe alters it; yea, it is a solemn thought, _alters_ it, for good or for evil, not for one instant, or

in one vicinity, but throughout the entire race, and for all eternity." Whipping round as though to avoid

applause, he continued with the same breath, but in a different tone of voice,"And now to God the Father .

He gave his blessing, and then, while the solemn chords again issued from the harmonium behind the curtain,

the different people began scraping and fumbling and moving very awkwardly and consciously towards the

door. Halfway upstairs, at a point where the light and sounds of the upper world conflicted with the dimness

"Miss Vinrace," Mrs. Flushing whispered peremptorily, "stay to luncheon. It's such a dismal day. They don't

Here they came out into the hall, where once more the little band was greeted with curious respectful glances

by the people who had not gone to church, although their clothing made it clear that they approved of Sunday

to the very verge of going to church. Rachel felt unable to stand any more of this particular atmosphere, and

was about to say she must go back, when Terence passed them, drawn along in talk with Evelyn M. Rachel

thereupon contented herself with saying that the people looked very respectable, which negative remark Mrs.

"English people abroad!" she returned with a vivid flash of malice. "Ain't they awful! But we won't stay

She bore her past Hewet and Evelyn and the Thornburys and the Elliots. Hewet stepped forward.

"Miss Vinrace has promised to lunch with me," said Mrs. Flushing, and began to pound energetically up the

staircase, as though the middle classes of England were in pursuit. She did not stop until she had slammed her

All the disgust and horror which Rachel had been accumulating burst forth beyond her control.

"I thought it the most loathsome exhibition I'd ever seen!" she broke out. "How can theyhow dare

theywhat do you mean by it Mr. Bax, hospital nurses, old men, prostitutes, disgusting"

She hit off the points she remembered as fast as she could, but she was too indignant to stop to analyse her

feelings. Mrs. Flushing watched her with keen gusto as she stood ejaculating with emphatic movements of

"Go on, go on, do go on," she laughed, clapping her hands. "It's delightful to hear you!"

"I've been every Sunday of my life ever since I can remember," Mrs. Flushing chuckled, as though that were

Rachel turned abruptly to the window. She did not know what it was that had put her into such a passion; the

sight of Terence in the hall had confused her thoughts, leaving her merely indignant. She looked straight at

their own villa, halfway up the side of the mountain. The most familiar view seen framed through glass has

a certain unfamiliar distinction, and she grew calm as she gazed. Then she remembered that she was in the

presence of some one she did not know well, and she turned and looked at Mrs. Flushing. Mrs. Flushing was

still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up, with her lips parted, so that her strong white teeth showed in

It might have been either of them and while Mrs. Flushing proceeded to describe them both, and to say that

both frightened her, but one frightened her more than the other, Rachel looked for a chair. The room, of

course, was one of the largest and most luxurious in the hotel. There were a great many armchairs and

settees covered in brown holland, but each of these was occupied by a large square piece of yellow

cardboard, and all the pieces of cardboard were dotted or lined with spots or dashes of bright oil paint.

"But you're not to look at those," said Mrs. Flushing as she saw Rachel's eye wander. She jumped up, and

turned as many as she could, face downwards, upon the floor. Rachel, however, managed to possess herself

of one of them, and, with the vanity of an artist, Mrs. Flushing demanded anxiously, "Well, well?"

"It's a hill," Rachel replied. There could be no doubt that Mrs. Flushing had represented the vigorous and

abrupt fling of the earth up into the air; you could almost see the clods flying as it whirled.

Rachel passed from one to another. They were all marked by something of the jerk and decision of their

maker; they were all perfectly untrained onslaughts of the brush upon some halfrealised idea suggested by

"I see things movin'," Mrs. Flushing explained. "So"she swept her hand through a yard of the air. She then

took up one of the cardboards which Rachel had laid aside, seated herself on a stool, and began to flourish a

stump of charcoal. While she occupied herself in strokes which seemed to serve her as speech serves others,

"Open the wardrobe," said Mrs. Flushing after a pause, speaking indistinctly because of a paintbrush in her

As Rachel hesitated, Mrs. Flushing came forward, still with a paintbrush in her mouth, flung open the wings

of her wardrobe, and tossed a quantity of shawls, stuffs, cloaks, embroideries, on to the bed. Rachel began to

finger them. Mrs. Flushing came up once more, and dropped a quantity of beads, brooches, earrings,

bracelets, tassels, and combs among the draperies. Then she went back to her stool and began to paint in

silence. The stuffs were coloured and dark and pale; they made a curious swarm of lines and colours upon the

counterpane, with the reddish lumps of stone and peacocks' feathers and clear pale tortoiseshell combs lying

"The women wore them hundreds of years ago, they wear 'em still," Mrs. Flushing remarked. "My husband

rides about and finds 'em; they don't know what they're worth, so we get 'em cheap. And we shall sell 'em to

smart women in London," she chuckled, as though the thought of these ladies and their absurd appearance

amused her. After painting for some minutes, she suddenly laid down her brush and fixed her eyes upon

"I tell you what I want to do," she said. "I want to go up there and see things for myself. It's silly stayin' here

with a pack of old maids as though we were at the seaside in England. I want to go up the river and see the

natives in their camps. It's only a matter of ten days under canvas. My husband's done it. One would lie out

under the trees at night and be towed down the river by day, and if we saw anythin' nice we'd shout out and

tell 'em to stop." She rose and began piercing the bed again and again with a long golden pin, as she watched

"We must make up a party," she went on. "Ten people could hire a launch. Now you'll come, and Mrs.

Ambrose'll come, and will Mr. Hirst and t'other gentleman come? Where's a pencil?"

She became more and more determined and excited as she evolved her plan. She sat on the edge of the bed

and wrote down a list of surnames, which she invariably spelt wrong. Rachel was enthusiastic, for indeed the

idea was immeasurably delightful to her. She had always had a great desire to see the river, and the name of

Terence threw a lustre over the prospect, which made it almost too good to come true. She did what she could

to help Mrs. Flushing by suggesting names, helping her to spell them, and counting up the days of the week

upon her fingers. As Mrs. Flushing wanted to know all she could tell her about the birth and pursuits of every

person she suggested, and threw in wild stories of her own as to the temperaments and habits of artists, and

people of the same name who used to come to Chillingley in the old days, but were doubtless not the same,

though they too were very clever men interested in Egyptology, the business took some time.

At last Mrs. Flushing sought her diary for help, the method of reckoning dates on the fingers proving

unsatisfactory. She opened and shut every drawer in her writingtable, and then cried furiously, "Yarmouth!

At this moment the luncheon gong began to work itself into its midday frenzy. Mrs. Flushing rang her bell

violently. The door was opened by a handsome maid who was almost as upright as her mistress.

"Oh, Yarmouth," said Mrs. Flushing, "just find my diary and see where ten days from now would bring us to,

and ask the hall porter how many men 'ud be wanted to row eight people up the river for a week, and what it

'ud cost, and put it on a slip of paper and leave it on my dressingtable. Now" she pointed at the door with

"Oh, and Yarmouth," Mrs. Flushing called back over her shoulder. "Put those things away and hang 'em in

As they entered the long diningroom it was obvious that the day was still Sunday, although the mood was

slightly abating. The Flushings' table was set by the side in the window, so that Mrs. Flushing could

"Old Mrs. Paley," she whispered as the wheeled chair slowly made its way through the door, Arthur pushing

behind. "Thornburys" came next. "That nice woman," she nudged Rachel to look at Miss Allan. "What's her

name?" The painted lady who always came in late, tripping into the room with a prepared smile as though she

came out upon a stage, might well have quailed before Mrs. Flushing's stare, which expressed her steely

hostility to the whole tribe of painted ladies. Next came the two young men whom Mrs. Flushing called

Mr. Flushing treated his wife with a mixture of admiration and indulgence, making up by the suavity and

fluency of his speech for the abruptness of hers. While she darted and ejaculated he gave Rachel a sketch of

the history of South American art. He would deal with one of his wife's exclamations, and then return as

smoothly as ever to his theme. He knew very well how to make a luncheon pass agreeably, without being dull

or intimate. He had formed the opinion, so he told Rachel, that wonderful treasures lay hid in the depths of

the land; the things Rachel had seen were merely trifles picked up in the course of one short journey. He

thought there might be giant gods hewn out of stone in the mountainside; and colossal figures standing by

themselves in the middle of vast green pasture lands, where none but natives had ever trod. Before the dawn

of European art he believed that the primitive huntsmen and priests had built temples of massive stone slabs,

had formed out of the dark rocks and the great cedar trees majestic figures of gods and of beasts, and symbols

of the great forces, water, air, and forest among which they lived. There might be prehistoric towns, like those

in Greece and Asia, standing in open places among the trees, filled with the works of this early race. Nobody

had been there; scarcely anything was known. Thus talking and displaying the most picturesque of his

She did not see that Hewet kept looking at her across the gangway, between the figures of waiters hurrying

past with plates. He was inattentive, and Hirst was finding him also very cross and disagreeable. They had

touched upon all the usual topics upon politics and literature, gossip and Christianity. They had quarrelled

over the service, which was every bit as fine as Sappho, according to Hewet; so that Hirst's paganism was

mere ostentation. Why go to church, he demanded, merely in order to read Sappho? Hirst observed that he

had listened to every word of the sermon, as he could prove if Hewet would like a repetition of it; and he

went to church in order to realise the nature of his Creator, which he had done very vividly that morning,

thanks to Mr. Bax, who had inspired him to write three of the most superb lines in English literature, an

"I wrote 'em on the back of the envelope of my aunt's last letter," he said, and pulled it from between the

"Well, let's hear them," said Hewet, slightly mollified by the prospect of a literary discussion.

"My dear Hewet, do you wish us both to be flung out of the hotel by an enraged mob of Thornburys and

Elliots?" Hirst enquired. "The merest whisper would be sufficient to incriminate me for ever. God!" he broke

out, "what's the use of attempting to write when the world's peopled by such damned fools? Seriously, Hewet,

I advise you to give up literature. What's the good of it? There's your audience."

He nodded his head at the tables where a very miscellaneous collection of Europeans were now engaged in

eating, in some cases in gnawing, the stringy foreign fowls. Hewet looked, and grew more out of temper than

"I rather think Rachel's in love with me," he remarked, as his eyes returned to his plate. "That's the worst of

To that Hewet made no answer whatever, and sat singularly still. Hirst did not seem to mind getting no

answer, for he returned to Mr. Bax again, quoting the peroration about the drop of water; and when Hewet

scarcely replied to these remarks either, he merely pursed his lips, chose a fig, and relapsed quite contentedly

into his own thoughts, of which he always had a very large supply. When luncheon was over they separated,

From his chair beneath the palmtree Hewet saw Rachel come out of the diningroom with the Flushings; he

saw them look round for chairs, and choose three in a corner where they could go on talking in private. Mr.

Flushing was now in the full tide of his discourse. He produced a sheet of paper upon which he made

drawings as he went on with his talk. He saw Rachel lean over and look, pointing to this and that with her

finger. Hewet unkindly compared Mr. Flushing, who was extremely well dressed for a hot climate, and rather

elaborate in his manner, to a very persuasive shopkeeper. Meanwhile, as he sat looking at them, he was

entangled in the Thornburys and Miss Allan, who, after hovering about for a minute or two, settled in chairs

round him, holding their cups in their hands. They wanted to know whether he could tell them anything about

Mr. Bax. Mr. Thornbury as usual sat saying nothing, looking vaguely ahead of him, occasionally raising his

eyeglasses, as if to put them on, but always thinking better of it at the last moment, and letting them fall

again. After some discussion, the ladies put it beyond a doubt that Mr. Bax was not the son of Mr. William

Bax. There was a pause. Then Mrs. Thornbury remarked that she was still in the habit of saying Queen

instead of King in the National Anthem. There was another pause. Then Miss Allan observed reflectively that

going to church abroad always made her feel as if she had been to a sailor's funeral.

There was then a very long pause, which threatened to be final, when, mercifully, a bird about the size of a

magpie, but of a metallic blue colour, appeared on the section of the terrace that could be seen from where

they sat. Mrs. Thornbury was led to enquire whether we should like it if all our rooks were blue"What do

"If all our rooks were blue," he said,he raised his glasses; he actually placed them on his nose"they

would not live long in Wiltshire," he concluded; he dropped his glasses to his side again. The three elderly

people now gazed meditatively at the bird, which was so obliging as to stay in the middle of the view for a

considerable space of time, thus making it unnecessary for them to speak again. Hewet began to wonder

whether he might not cross over to the Flushings' corner, when Hirst appeared from the background, slipped

into a chair by Rachel's side, and began to talk to her with every appearance of familiarity. Hewet could stand

Everything he saw was distasteful to him. He hated the blue and white, the intensity and definiteness, the

hum and heat of the south; the landscape seemed to him as hard and as romantic as a cardboard background

on the stage, and the mountain but a wooden screen against a sheet painted blue. He walked fast in spite of

Two roads led out of the town on the eastern side; one branched off towards the Ambroses' villa, the other

struck into the country, eventually reaching a village on the plain, but many footpaths, which had been

stamped in the earth when it was wet, led off from it, across great dry fields, to scattered farmhouses, and

the villas of rich natives. Hewet stepped off the road on to one of these, in order to avoid the hardness and

heat of the main road, the dust of which was always being raised in small clouds by carts and ramshackle flies

which carried parties of festive peasants, or turkeys swelling unevenly like a bundle of air balls beneath a net,

The exercise indeed served to clear away the superficial irritations of the morning, but he remained

miserable. It seemed proved beyond a doubt that Rachel was indifferent to him, for she had scarcely looked at

him, and she had talked to Mr. Flushing with just the same interest with which she talked to him. Finally,

Hirst's odious words flicked his mind like a whip, and he remembered that he had left her talking to Hirst.

She was at this moment talking to him, and it might be true, as he said, that she was in love with him. He

went over all the evidence for this suppositionher sudden interest in Hirst's writing, her way of quoting his

opinions respectfully, or with only half a laugh; her very nickname for him, "the great Man," might have

some serious meaning in it. Supposing that there were an understanding between them, what would it mean

"Damn it all!" he demanded, "am I in love with her?" To that he could only return himself one answer. He

certainly was in love with her, if he knew what love meant. Ever since he had first seen her he had been

interested and attracted, more and more interested and attracted, until he was scarcely able to think of

anything except Rachel. But just as he was sliding into one of the long feasts of meditation about them both,

he checked himself by asking whether he wanted to marry her? That was the real problem, for these miseries

and agonies could not be endured, and it was necessary that he should make up his mind. He instantly

decided that he did not want to marry any one. Partly because he was irritated by Rachel the idea of marriage

irritated him. It immediately suggested the picture of two people sitting alone over the fire; the man was

reading, the woman sewing. There was a second picture. He saw a man jump up, say goodnight, leave the

company and hasten away with the quiet secret look of one who is stealing to certain happiness. Both these

pictures were very unpleasant, and even more so was a third picture, of husband and wife and friend; and the

married people glancing at each other as though they were content to let something pass unquestioned, being

themselves possessed of the deeper truth. Other pictures he was walking very fast in his irritation, and they

came before him without any conscious effort, like pictures on a sheet succeeded these. Here were the

worn husband and wife sitting with their children round them, very patient, tolerant, and wise. But that too,

was an unpleasant picture. He tried all sorts of pictures, taking them from the lives of friends of his, for he

knew many different married couples; but he saw them always, walled up in a warm firelit room. When, on

the other hand, he began to think of unmarried people, he saw them active in an unlimited world; above all,

standing on the same ground as the rest, without shelter or advantage. All the most individual and humane of

his friends were bachelors and spinsters; indeed he was surprised to find that the women he most admired and

knew best were unmarried women. Marriage seemed to be worse for them than it was for men. Leaving these

general pictures he considered the people whom he had been observing lately at the hotel. He had often

revolved these questions in his mind, as he watched Susan and Arthur, or Mr. and Mrs. Thornbury, or Mr.

and Mrs. Elliot. He had observed how the shy happiness and surprise of the engaged couple had gradually

been replaced by a comfortable, tolerant state of mind, as if they had already done with the adventure of

intimacy and were taking up their parts. Susan used to pursue Arthur about with a sweater, because he had

one day let slip that a brother of his had died of pneumonia. The sight amused him, but was not pleasant if

you substituted Terence and Rachel for Arthur and Susan; and Arthur was far less eager to get you in a corner

and talk about flying and the mechanics of aeroplanes. They would settle down. He then looked at the

couples who had been married for several years. It was true that Mrs. Thornbury had a husband, and that for

the most part she was wonderfully successful in bringing him into the conversation, but one could not

imagine what they said to each other when they were alone. There was the same difficulty with regard to the

Elliots, except that they probably bickered openly in private. They sometimes bickered in public, though

these disagreements were painfully covered over by little insincerities on the part of the wife, who was afraid

of public opinion, because she was much stupider than her husband, and had to make efforts to keep hold of

him. There could be no doubt, he decided, that it would have been far better for the world if these couples had

separated. Even the Ambroses, whom he admired and respected profoundlyin spite of all the love between

them, was not their marriage too a compromise? She gave way to him; she spoilt him; she arranged things for

him; she who was all truth to others was not true to her husband, was not true to her friends if they came in

conflict with her husband. It was a strange and piteous flaw in her nature. Perhaps Rachel had been right,

then, when she said that night in the garden, "We bring out what's worst in each otherwe should live

No Rachel had been utterly wrong! Every argument seemed to be against undertaking the burden of marriage

until he came to Rachel's argument, which was manifestly absurd. From having been the pursued, he turned

and became the pursuer. Allowing the case against marriage to lapse, he began to consider the peculiarities of

character which had led to her saying that. Had she meant it? Surely one ought to know the character of the

person with whom one might spend all one's life; being a novelist, let him try to discover what sort of person

she was. When he was with her he could not analyse her qualities, because he seemed to know them

instinctively, but when he was away from her it sometimes seemed to him that he did not know her at all. She

was young, but she was also old; she had little selfconfidence, and yet she was a good judge of people. She

was happy; but what made her happy? If they were alone and the excitement had worn off, and they had to

deal with the ordinary facts of the day, what would happen? Casting his eye upon his own character, two

things appeared to him: that he was very unpunctual, and that he disliked answering notes. As far as he knew

Rachel was inclined to be punctual, but he could not remember that he had ever seen her with a pen in her

hand. Let him next imagine a dinnerparty, say at the Crooms, and Wilson, who had taken her down, talking

about the state of the Liberal party. She would sayof course she was absolutely ignorant of politics.

Nevertheless she was intelligent certainly, and honest too. Her temper was uncertainthat he had

noticedand she was not domestic, and she was not easy, and she was not quiet, or beautiful, except in some

dresses in some lights. But the great gift she had was that she understood what was said to her; there had

never been any one like her for talking to. You could say anything you could say everything, and yet she

was never servile. Here he pulled himself up, for it seemed to him suddenly that he knew less about her than

about any one. All these thoughts had occurred to him many times already; often had he tried to argue and

reason; and again he had reached the old state of doubt. He did not know her, and he did not know what she

felt, or whether they could live together, or whether he wanted to marry her, and yet he was in love with her.

Supposing he went to her and said (he slackened his pace and began to speak aloud, as if he were speaking to

"I worship you, but I loathe marriage, I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise, and the thought of you

He stopped, leant against the trunk of a tree, and gazed without seeing them at some stones scattered on the

bank of the dry riverbed. He saw Rachel's face distinctly, the grey eyes, the hair, the mouth; the face that

could look so many thingsplain, vacant, almost insignificant, or wild, passionate, almost beautiful, yet in

his eyes was always the same because of the extraordinary freedom with which she looked at him, and spoke

as she felt. What would she answer? What did she feel? Did she love him, or did she feel nothing at all for

him or for any other man, being, as she had said that afternoon, free, like the wind or the sea?

"Oh, you're free!" he exclaimed, in exultation at the thought of her, "and I'd keep you free. We'd be free

together. We'd share everything together. No happiness would be like ours. No lives would compare with

No longer able to consider marriage, or to weigh coolly what her nature was, or how it would be if they lived

together, he dropped to the ground and sat absorbed in the thought of her, and soon tormented by the desire to

But Hewet need not have increased his torments by imagining that Hirst was still talking to Rachel. The party

very soon broke up, the Flushings going in one direction, Hirst in another, and Rachel remaining in the hall,

pulling the illustrated papers about, turning from one to another, her movements expressing the unformed

restless desire in her mind. She did not know whether to go or to stay, though Mrs. Flushing had commanded

her to appear at tea. The hall was empty, save for Miss Willett who was playing scales with her fingers upon

a sheet of sacred music, and the Carters, an opulent couple who disliked the girl, because her shoe laces were

untied, and she did not look sufficiently cheery, which by some indirect process of thought led them to think

that she would not like them. Rachel certainly would not have liked them, if she had seen them, for the

excellent reason that Mr. Carter waxed his moustache, and Mrs. Carter wore bracelets, and they were

evidently the kind of people who would not like her; but she was too much absorbed by her own restlessness

She was turning over the slippery pages of an American magazine, when the hall door swung, a wedge of

light fell upon the floor, and a small white figure upon whom the light seemed focussed, made straight across

"What! You here?" Evelyn exclaimed. "Just caught a glimpse of you at lunch; but you wouldn't condescend

It was part of Evelyn's character that in spite of many snubs which she received or imagined, she never gave

up the pursuit of people she wanted to know, and in the long run generally succeeded in knowing them and

She looked round her. "I hate this place. I hate these people," she said. "I wish you'd come up to my room

As Rachel had no wish to go or to stay, Evelyn took her by the wrist and drew her out of the hall and up the

stairs. As they went upstairs two steps at a time, Evelyn, who still kept hold of Rachel's hand, ejaculated

broken sentences about not caring a hang what people said. "Why should one, if one knows one's right? And

She was in a state of great excitement, and the muscles of her arms were twitching nervously. It was evident

that she was only waiting for the door to shut to tell Rachel all about it. Indeed, directly they were inside her

Rachel was not in the mood to think clearly about any one's state of mind. She was however in the mood to

"How on earth did you guess that?" Evelyn exclaimed, some pleasure mingling with her surprise. "Do as I

"But I don't suppose I've had more than you've had," Evelyn laughed rather insincerely.

"But you willlotsit's the easiest thing in the worldBut that's not what's happened this afternoon

She went to the washstand and began sponging her cheeks with cold water; for they were burning hot. Still

sponging them and trembling slightly she turned and explained in the high pitched voice of nervous

excitement: "Alfred Perrott says I've promised to marry him, and I say I never did. Sinclair says he'll shoot

himself if I don't marry him, and I say, 'Well, shoot yourself!' But of course he doesn'tthey never do. And

Sinclair got hold of me this afternoon and began bothering me to give an answer, and accusing me of flirting

with Alfred Perrott, and told me I'd no heart, and was merely a Siren, oh, and quantities of pleasant things

like that. So at last I said to him, 'Well, Sinclair, you've said enough now. You can just let me go.' And then

he caught me and kissed methe disgusting bruteI can still feel his nasty hairy face just thereas if he'd

"I've never met a man that was fit to compare with a woman!" she cried; "they've no dignity, they've no

courage, they've nothing but their beastly passions and their brute strength! Would any woman have behaved

like thatif a man had said he didn't want her? We've too much selfrespect; we're infinitely finer than they

She walked about the room, dabbing her wet cheeks with a towel. Tears were now running down with the

Rachel sat watching her. She did not think of Evelyn's position; she only thought that the world was full or

"There's only one man here I really like," Evelyn continued; "Terence Hewet. One feels as if one could trust

At these words Rachel suffered an indescribable chill; her heart seemed to be pressed together by cold hands.

"I don't know," said Evelyn. "Don't you have feelings about people? Feelings you're absolutely certain are

right? I had a long talk with Terence the other night. I felt we were really friends after that. There's something

of a woman in him" She paused as though she were thinking of very intimate things that Terence had told

She tried to force herself to say, "Has to be proposed to you?" but the question was too tremendous, and in

another moment Evelyn was saying that the finest men were like women, and women were nobler than

menfor example, one couldn't imagine a woman like Lillah Harrison thinking a mean thing or having

She was becoming much calmer, and her cheeks were now quite dry. Her eyes had regained their usual

expression of keen vitality, and she seemed to have forgotten Alfred and Sinclair and her emotion. "Lillah

runs a home for inebriate women in the Deptford Road," she continued. "She started it, managed it, did

everything off her own bat, and it's now the biggest of its kind in England. You can't think what those women

are likeand their homes. But she goes among them at all hours of the day and night. I've often been with

her. . . . That's what's the matter with us. . . . We don't _do_ things. What do you _do_?" she demanded,

looking at Rachel with a slightly ironical smile. Rachel had scarcely listened to any of this, and her

expression was vacant and unhappy. She had conceived an equal dislike for Lillah Harrison and her work in

"That's about it!" Evelyn laughed. "We none of us do anything but play. And that's why women like Lillah

Harrison, who's worth twenty of you and me, have to work themselves to the bone. But I'm tired of playing,"

she went on, lying flat on the bed, and raising her arms above her head. Thus stretched out, she looked more

"I'm going to do something. I've got a splendid idea. Look here, you must join. I'm sure you've got any

amount of stuff in you, though you lookwell, as if you'd lived all your life in a garden." She sat up, and

began to explain with animation. "I belong to a club in London. It meets every Saturday, so it's called the

Saturday Club. We're supposed to talk about art, but I'm sick of talking about art what's the good of it?

With all kinds of real things going on round one? It isn't as if they'd got anything to say about art, either. So

what I'm going to tell 'em is that we've talked enough about art, and we'd better talk about life for a change.

Questions that really matter to people's lives, the White Slave Traffic, Women Suffrage, the Insurance Bill,

and so on. And when we've made up our mind what we want to do we could form ourselves into a society for

doing it. . . . I'm certain that if people like ourselves were to take things in hand instead of leaving it to

policemen and magistrates, we could put a stop toprostitution"she lowered her voice at the ugly

word"in six months. My idea is that men and women ought to join in these matters. We ought to go into

Piccadilly and stop one of these poor wretches and say: 'Now, look here, I'm no better than you are, and I

don't pretend to be any better, but you're doing what you know to be beastly, and I won't have you doing

beastly things, because we're all the same under our skins, and if you do a beastly thing it does matter to me.'

That's what Mr. Bax was saying this morning, and it's true, though you clever peopleyou're clever too,

When Evelyn began talkingit was a fact she often regretted her thoughts came so quickly that she never

had any time to listen to other people's thoughts. She continued without more pause than was needed for

"I don't see why the Saturday club people shouldn't do a really great work in that way," she went on. "Of

course it would want organisation, some one to give their life to it, but I'm ready to do that. My notion's to

think of the human beings first and let the abstract ideas take care of themselves. What's wrong with

Lillahif there is anything wrong is that she thinks of Temperance first and the women afterwards. Now

there's one thing I'll say to my credit," she continued; "I'm not intellectual or artistic or anything of that sort,

but I'm jolly human." She slipped off the bed and sat on the floor, looking up at Rachel. She searched up into

her face as if she were trying to read what kind of character was concealed behind the face. She put her hand

"It _is_ being human that counts, isn't it?" she continued. "Being real, whatever Mr. Hirst may say. Are you

Rachel felt much as Terence had felt that Evelyn was too close to her, and that there was something exciting

in this closeness, although it was also disagreeable. She was spared the need of finding an answer to the

In order to put an end to the scrutiny of these bright blue eyes, and to relieve her own physical restlessness,

Rachel pushed back her chair and exclaimed, "In everything!" and began to finger different objects, the books

on the table, the photographs, the freshly leaved plant with the stiff bristles, which stood in a large

"I believe in the bed, in the photographs, in the pot, in the balcony, in the sun, in Mrs. Flushing," she

remarked, still speaking recklessly, with something at the back of her mind forcing her to say the things that

one usually does not say. "But I don't believe in God, I don't believe in Mr. Bax, I don't believe in the hospital

nurse. I don't believe" She took up a photograph and, looking at it, did not finish her sentence.

"That's my mother," said Evelyn, who remained sitting on the floor binding her knees together with her arms,

Rachel considered the portrait. "Well, I don't much believe in her," she remarked after a time in a low tone of

Mrs. Murgatroyd looked indeed as if the life had been crushed out of her; she knelt on a chair, gazing

piteously from behind the body of a Pomeranian dog which she clasped to her cheek, as if for protection.

"And that's my dad," said Evelyn, for there were two photographs in one frame. The second photograph

represented a handsome soldier with high regular features and a heavy black moustache; his hand rested on

"And it's because of them," said Evelyn, "that I'm going to help the other women. You've heard about me, I

suppose? They weren't married, you see; I'm not anybody in particular. I'm not a bit ashamed of it. They

loved each other anyhow, and that's more than most people can say of their parents."

Rachel sat down on the bed, with the two pictures in her hands, and compared themthe man and the

woman who had, so Evelyn said, loved each other. That fact interested her more than the campaign on behalf

of unfortunate women which Evelyn was once more beginning to describe. She looked again from one to the

"What d'you think it's like," she asked, as Evelyn paused for a minute, "being in love?"

"Have you never been in love?" Evelyn asked. "Oh noone's only got to look at you to see that," she added.

She considered. "I really was in love once," she said. She fell into reflection, her eyes losing their bright

vitality and approaching something like an expression of tenderness. "It was heavenly!while it lasted. The

She went on to consider the difficulty with Alfred and Sinclair about which she had pretended to ask Rachel's

advice. But she did not want advice; she wanted intimacy. When she looked at Rachel, who was still looking

at the photographs on the bed, she could not help seeing that Rachel was not thinking about her. What was

she thinking about, then? Evelyn was tormented by the little spark of life in her which was always trying to

work through to other people, and was always being rebuffed. Falling silent she looked at her visitor, her

shoes, her stockings, the combs in her hair, all the details of her dress in short, as though by seizing every

Rachel at last put down the photographs, walked to the window and remarked, "It's odd. People talk as much

Instead Rachel opened the window, which was made in two long panes, and looked down into the garden

"That's where we got lost the first night," she said. "It must have been in those bushes."

"They kill hens down there," said Evelyn. "They cut their heads off with a knifedisgusting! But tell

"I'd like to explore the hotel," Rachel interrupted. She drew her head in and looked at Evelyn, who still sat on

That might be, although every room and passage and chair in the place had a character of its own in Rachel's

eyes; but she could not bring herself to stay in one place any longer. She moved slowly towards the door.

"What is it you want?" said Evelyn. "You make me feel as if you were always thinking of something you

But Rachel made no response to this invitation either. She stopped with her fingers on the handle of the door,

"I suppose you'll marry one of them," she said, and then turned the handle and shut the door behind her. She

walked slowly down the passage, running her hand along the wall beside her. She did not think which way

she was going, and therefore walked down a passage which only led to a window and a balcony. She looked

down at the kitchen premises, the wrong side of the hotel life, which was cut off from the right side by a

maze of small bushes. The ground was bare, old tins were scattered about, and the bushes wore towels and

aprons upon their heads to dry. Every now and then a waiter came out in a white apron and threw rubbish on

to a heap. Two large women in cotton dresses were sitting on a bench with bloodsmeared tin trays in front

of them and yellow bodies across their knees. They were plucking the birds, and talking as they plucked.

Suddenly a chicken came floundering, half flying, half running into the space, pursued by a third woman

whose age could hardly be under eighty. Although wizened and unsteady on her legs she kept up the chase,

egged on by the laughter of the others; her face was expressive of furious rage, and as she ran she swore in

Spanish. Frightened by handclapping here, a napkin there, the bird ran this way and that in sharp angles, and

finally fluttered straight at the old woman, who opened her scanty grey skirts to enclose it, dropped upon it in

a bundle, and then holding it out cut its head off with an expression of vindictive energy and triumph

combined. The blood and the ugly wriggling fascinated Rachel, so that although she knew that some one had

come up behind and was standing beside her, she did not turn round until the old woman had settled down on

the bench beside the others. Then she looked up sharply, because of the ugliness of what she had seen. It was

"Not a pretty sight," said Miss Allan, "although I daresay it's really more humane than our method. . . . I don't

believe you've ever been in my room," she added, and turned away as if she meant Rachel to follow her.

Rachel followed, for it seemed possible that each new person might remove the mystery which burdened her.

The bedrooms at the hotel were all on the same pattern, save that some were larger and some smaller; they

had a floor of dark red tiles; they had a high bed, draped in mosquito curtains; they had each a writingtable

and a dressingtable, and a couple of armchairs. But directly a box was unpacked the rooms became very

different, so that Miss Allan's room was very unlike Evelyn's room. There were no variously coloured hatpins

on her dressingtable; no scentbottles; no narrow curved pairs of scissors; no great variety of shoes and

boots; no silk petticoats lying on the chairs. The room was extremely neat. There seemed to be two pairs of

everything. The writingtable, however, was piled with manuscript, and a table was drawn out to stand by the

armchair on which were two separate heaps of dark library books, in which there were many slips of paper

sticking out at different degrees of thickness. Miss Allan had asked Rachel to come in out of kindness,

thinking that she was waiting about with nothing to do. Moreover, she liked young women, for she had taught

many of them, and having received so much hospitality from the Ambroses she was glad to be able to repay a

minute part of it. She looked about accordingly for something to show her. The room did not provide much

entertainment. She touched her manuscript. "Age of Chaucer; Age of Elizabeth; Age of Dryden," she

reflected; "I'm glad there aren't many more ages. I'm still in the middle of the eighteenth century. Won't you

sit down, Miss Vinrace? The chair, though small, is firm. . . . Euphues. The germ of the English novel," she

continued, glancing at another page. "Is that the kind of thing that interests you?"

She looked at Rachel with great kindness and simplicity, as though she would do her utmost to provide

anything she wished to have. This expression had a remarkable charm in a face otherwise much lined with

"Oh no, it's music with you, isn't it?" she continued, recollecting, "and I generally find that they don't go

together. Sometimes of course we have prodigies" She was looking about her for something and now saw

a jar on the mantelpiece which she reached down and gave to Rachel. "If you put your finger into this jar you

"Don't bother," she said, as Miss Allan looked about for some other implement. "I daresay I shouldn't like

"You've never tried?" enquired Miss Allan. "Then I consider that it is your duty to try now. Why, you may

add a new pleasure to life, and as you are still young" She wondered whether a buttonhook would do. "I

make it a rule to try everything," she said. "Don't you think it would be very annoying if you tasted ginger for

the first time on your deathbed, and found you never liked anything so much? I should be so exceedingly

She was now successful, and a lump of ginger emerged on the end of the buttonhook. While she went to

wipe the buttonhook, Rachel bit the ginger and at once cried, "I must spit it out!"

"An experience anyhow," said Miss Allan calmly. "Let me seeI have nothing else to offer you, unless you

would like to taste this." A small cupboard hung above her bed, and she took out of it a slim elegant jar filled

"Creme de Menthe," she said. "Liqueur, you know. It looks as if I drank, doesn't it? As a matter of fact it goes

to prove what an exceptionally abstemious person I am. I've had that jar for sixandtwenty years," she

added, looking at it with pride, as she tipped it over, and from the height of the liquid it could be seen that the

"When I went to Dresden sixandtwenty years ago," she said, "a certain friend of mine announced her

intention of making me a present. She thought that in the event of shipwreck or accident a stimulant might be

useful. However, as I had no occasion for it, I gave it back on my return. On the eve of any foreign journey

the same bottle always makes its appearance, with the same note; on my return in safety it is always handed

back. I consider it a kind of charm against accidents. Though I was once detained twentyfour hours by an

accident to the train in front of me, I have never met with any accident myself. Yes," she continued, now

addressing the bottle, "we have seen many climes and cupboards together, have we not? I intend one of these

days to have a silver label made with an inscription. It is a gentleman, as you may observe, and his name is

Oliver. . . . I do not think I could forgive you, Miss Vinrace, if you broke my Oliver," she said, firmly taking

Rachel was swinging the bottle by the neck. She was interested by Miss Allan to the point of forgetting the

"Well," she exclaimed, "I do think that odd; to have had a friend for twentysix years, and a bottle, andto

"Not at all; I call it the reverse of odd," Miss Allan replied. "I always consider myself the most ordinary

person I know. It's rather distinguished to be as ordinary as I am. I forget are you a prodigy, or did you say

She smiled at Rachel very kindly. She seemed to have known and experienced so much, as she moved

cumbrously about the room, that surely there must be balm for all anguish in her words, could one induce her

to have recourse to them. But Miss Allan, who was now locking the cupboard door, showed no signs of

breaking the reticence which had snowed her under for years. An uncomfortable sensation kept Rachel silent;

on the one hand, she wished to whirl high and strike a spark out of the cool pink flesh; on the other she

"I'm not a prodigy. I find it very difficult to say what I mean" she observed at length.

"It's a matter of temperament, I believe," Miss Allan helped her. "There are some people who have no

difficulty; for myself I find there are a great many things I simply cannot say. But then I consider myself very

slow. One of my colleagues now, knows whether she likes you or notlet me see, how does she do it?by

the way you say goodmorning at breakfast. It is sometimes a matter of years before I can make up my mind.

Miss Allan looked at Rachel quietly, saying nothing; she suspected that there were difficulties of some kind.

Then she put her hand to the back of her head, and discovered that one of the grey coils of hair had come

"I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me," she said, rising, "if I do my hair. I have never yet found a

satisfactory type of hairpin. I must change my dress, too, for the matter of that; and I should be particularly

glad of your assistance, because there is a tiresome set of hooks which I _can_ fasten for myself, but it takes

She slipped off her coat and skirt and blouse, and stood doing her hair before the glass, a massive homely

figure, her petticoat being so short that she stood on a pair of thick slategrey legs.

"People say youth is pleasant; I myself find middle age far pleasanter," she remarked, removing hair pins and

combs, and taking up her brush. When it fell loose her hair only came down to her neck.

"When one was young," she continued, "things could seem so very serious if one was made that way. . . .

In a wonderfully short space of time her hair had been reformed in its usual loops. The upper half of her body

now became dark green with black stripes on it; the skirt, however, needed hooking at various angles, and

"Our Miss Johnson used to find life very unsatisfactory, I remember," Miss Allan continued. She turned her

back to the light. "And then she took to breeding guineapigs for their spots, and became absorbed in that. I

have just heard that the yellow guineapig has had a black baby. We had a bet of sixpence on about it. She

The skirt was fastened. She looked at herself in the glass with the curious stiffening of her face generally

"Am I in a fit state to encounter my fellowbeings?" she asked. "I forget which way it isbut they find black

animals very rarely have coloured babiesit may be the other way round. I have had it so often explained to

She moved about the room acquiring small objects with quiet force, and fixing them about hera locket, a

watch and chain, a heavy gold bracelet, and the particoloured button of a suffrage society. Finally,

completely equipped for Sunday tea, she stood before Rachel, and smiled at her kindly. She was not an

impulsive woman, and her life had schooled her to restrain her tongue. At the same time, she was possessed

of an amount of goodwill towards others, and in particular towards the young, which often made her regret

She put one hand upon Rachel's shoulder, and stooping, picked up a pair of walkingshoes with the other,

and placed them neatly side by side outside her door. As they walked down the passage they passed many

pairs of boots and shoes, some black and some brown, all side by side, and all different, even to the way in

"I always think that people are so like their boots," said Miss Allan. "That is Mrs. Paley's" but as she spoke

"I was just saying that people are so like their boots," said Miss Allan. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated

it more loudly still. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated it a third time. Mrs. Paley heard, but she did not

understand. She was apparently about to repeat it for the fourth time, when Rachel suddenly said something

inarticulate, and disappeared down the corridor. This misunderstanding, which involved a complete block in

the passage, seemed to her unbearable. She walked quickly and blindly in the opposite direction, and found

herself at the end of a _cul_ _de_ _sac_. There was a window, and a table and a chair in the window, and

upon the table stood a rusty inkstand, an ashtray, an old copy of a French newspaper, and a pen with a broken

nib. Rachel sat down, as if to study the French newspaper, but a tear fell on the blurred French print, raising a

soft blot. She lifted her head sharply, exclaiming aloud, "It's intolerable!" Looking out of the window with

eyes that would have seen nothing even had they not been dazed by tears, she indulged herself at last in

violent abuse of the entire day. It had been miserable from start to finish; first, the service in the chapel; then

luncheon; then Evelyn; then Miss Allan; then old Mrs. Paley blocking up the passage. All day long she had

been tantalized and put off. She had now reached one of those eminences, the result of some crisis, from

which the world is finally displayed in its true proportions. She disliked the look of it immenselychurches,

politicians, misfits, and huge imposturesmen like Mr. Dalloway, men like Mr. Bax, Evelyn and her chatter,

Mrs. Paley blocking up the passage. Meanwhile the steady beat of her own pulse represented the hot current

of feeling that ran down beneath; beating, struggling, fretting. For the time, her own body was the source of

all the life in the world, which tried to burst forth herethereand was repressed now by Mr. Bax, now by

Evelyn, now by the imposition of ponderous stupidity, the weight of the entire world. Thus tormented, she

would twist her hands together, for all things were wrong, all people stupid. Vaguely seeing that there were

people down in the garden beneath she represented them as aimless masses of matter, floating hither and

thither, without aim except to impede her. What were they doing, those other people in the world?

"Nobody knows," she said. The force of her rage was beginning to spend itself, and the vision of the world

"It's a dream," she murmured. She considered the rusty inkstand, the pen, the ashtray, and the old French

newspaper. These small and worthless objects seemed to her to represent human lives.

"We're asleep and dreaming," she repeated. But the possibility which now suggested itself that one of the

shapes might be the shape of Terence roused her from her melancholy lethargy. She became as restless as she

had been before she sat down. She was no longer able to see the world as a town laid out beneath her. It was

covered instead by a haze of feverish red mist. She had returned to the state in which she had been all day.

Thinking was no escape. Physical movement was the only refuge, in and out of rooms, in and out of people's

minds, seeking she knew not what. Therefore she rose, pushed back the table, and went downstairs. She went

out of the hall door, and, turning the corner of the hotel, found herself among the people whom she had seen

from the window. But owing to the broad sunshine after shaded passages, and to the substance of living

people after dreams, the group appeared with startling intensity, as though the dusty surface had been peeled

off everything, leaving only the reality and the instant. It had the look of a vision printed on the dark at night.

White and grey and purple figures were scattered on the green, round wicker tables, in the middle the flame

of the teaurn made the air waver like a faulty sheet of glass, a massive green tree stood over them as if it

were a moving force held at rest. As she approached, she could hear Evelyn's voice repeating monotonously,

"Here thenheregood doggie, come here"; for a moment nothing seemed to happen; it all stood still, and

then she realised that one of the figures was Helen Ambrose; and the dust again began to settle.

The group indeed had come together in a miscellaneous way; one teatable joining to another teatable, and

deckchairs serving to connect two groups. But even at a distance it could be seen that Mrs. Flushing, upright

and imperious, dominated the party. She was talking vehemently to Helen across the table.

"Ten days under canvas," she was saying. "No comforts. If you want comforts, don't come. But I may tell

"Ah, there's your niece. She's promised. You're coming, aren't you?" Having adopted the plan, she pursued it

"Of course I'm coming. So are you, Helen. And Mr. Pepper too." As she sat she realised that she was

surrounded by people she knew, but that Terence was not among them. From various angles people began

saying what they thought of the proposed expedition. According to some it would be hot, but the nights

would be cold; according to others, the difficulties would lie rather in getting a boat, and in speaking the

language. Mrs. Flushing disposed of all objections, whether due to man or due to nature, by announcing that

Meanwhile Mr. Flushing quietly explained to Helen that the expedition was really a simple matter; it took

five days at the outside; and the placea native villagewas certainly well worth seeing before she

returned to England. Helen murmured ambiguously, and did not commit herself to one answer rather than to

The teaparty, however, included too many different kinds of people for general conversation to flourish; and

from Rachel's point of view possessed the great advantage that it was quite unnecessary for her to talk. Over

there Susan and Arthur were explaining to Mrs. Paley that an expedition had been proposed; and Mrs. Paley

having grasped the fact, gave the advice of an old traveller that they should take nice canned vegetables, fur

cloaks, and insect powder. She leant over to Mrs. Flushing and whispered something which from the twinkle

in her eyes probably had reference to bugs. Then Helen was reciting "Toll for the Brave" to St. John Hirst, in

order apparently to win a sixpence which lay upon the table; while Mr. Hughling Elliot imposed silence upon

his section of the audience by his fascinating anecdote of Lord Curzon and the undergraduate's bicycle. Mrs.

Thornbury was trying to remember the name of a man who might have been another Garibaldi, and had

written a book which they ought to read; and Mr. Thornbury recollected that he had a pair of binoculars at

anybody's service. Miss Allan meanwhile murmured with the curious intimacy which a spinster often

achieves with dogs, to the foxterrier which Evelyn had at last induced to come over to them. Little particles

of dust or blossom fell on the plates now and then when the branches sighed above. Rachel seemed to see and

hear a little of everything, much as a river feels the twigs that fall into it and sees the sky above, but her eyes

were too vague for Evelyn's liking. She came across, and sat on the ground at Rachel's feet.

"Miss Warrington," Rachel replied rashly, because she had to say something. She did indeed see Susan

murmuring to Mrs. Elliot, while Arthur stared at her with complete confidence in his own love. Both Rachel

"There's the ordering and the dogs and the garden, and the children coming to be taught," her voice proceeded

rhythmically as if checking the list, "and my tennis, and the village, and letters to write for father, and a

thousand little things that don't sound much; but I never have a moment to myself, and when I got to bed, I'm

so sleepy I'm off before my head touches the pillow. Besides I like to be a great deal with my AuntsI'm a

great bore, aren't I, Aunt Emma?" (she smiled at old Mrs. Paley, who with head slightly drooped was

regarding the cake with speculative affection), "and father has to be very careful about chills in winter which

means a great deal of running about, because he won't look after himself, any more than you will, Arthur! So

Her voice mounted too, in a mild ecstasy of satisfaction with her life and her own nature. Rachel suddenly

took a violent dislike to Susan, ignoring all that was kindly, modest, and even pathetic about her. She

appeared insincere and cruel; she saw her grown stout and prolific, the kind blue eyes now shallow and

Helen turned to her. "Did you go to church?" she asked. She had won her sixpence and seemed making ready

"It's high time we went," said Helen. "Don't you see how silent every one's getting?"

A silence had fallen upon them all, caused partly by one of the accidents of talk, and partly because they saw

some one approaching. Helen could not see who it was, but keeping her eyes fixed upon Rachel observed

something which made her say to herself, "So it's Hewet." She drew on her gloves with a curious sense of the

significance of the moment. Then she rose, for Mrs. Flushing had seen Hewet too, and was demanding

information about rivers and boats which showed that the whole conversation would now come over again.

Rachel followed her, and they walked in silence down the avenue. In spite of what Helen had seen and

understood, the feeling that was uppermost in her mind was now curiously perverse; if she went on this

expedition, she would not be able to have a bath, the effort appeared to her to be great and disagreeable.

"It's so unpleasant, being cooped up with people one hardly knows," she remarked. "People who mind being

"I don't mean to go, and I don't mean not to go," she replied. She became more and more casual and

"After all, I daresay we've seen all there is to be seen; and there's the bother of getting there, and whatever

For some time Rachel made no reply; but every sentence Helen spoke increased her bitterness. At last she

"Thank God, Helen, I'm not like you! I sometimes think you don't think or feel or care to do anything but

exist! You're like Mr. Hirst. You see that things are bad, and you pride yourself on saying so. It's what you

call being honest; as a matter of fact it's being lazy, being dull, being nothing. You don't help; you put an end

At any other time Rachel would probably have been silenced by her Aunt's candour; but this afternoon she

"Is that because I didn't accept Mr. Flushing's invitation?" Helen asked, "or do you always think that?"

At the moment it appeared to Rachel that she had always seen the same faults in Helen, from the very first

night on board the _Euphrosyne_, in spite of her beauty, in spite of her magnanimity and their love.

"Oh, it's only what's the matter with every one!" she exclaimed. "No one feelsno one does anything but

Here she tore a handful of leaves from a bush and crushed them to control herself.

"The lives of these people," she tried to explain, the aimlessness, the way they live. One goes from one to

another, and it's all the same. One never gets what one wants out of any of them."

Her emotional state and her confusion would have made her an easy prey if Helen had wished to argue or had

wished to draw confidences. But instead of talking she fell into a profound silence as they walked on.

Aimless, trivial, meaningless, oh nowhat she had seen at tea made it impossible for her to believe that. The

little jokes, the chatter, the inanities of the afternoon had shrivelled up before her eyes. Underneath the likings

and spites, the comings together and partings, great things were happening terrible things, because they

were so great. Her sense of safety was shaken, as if beneath twigs and dead leaves she had seen the

movement of a snake. It seemed to her that a moment's respite was allowed, a moment's makebelieve, and

then again the profound and reasonless law asserted itself, moulding them all to its liking, making and

She looked at Rachel walking beside her, still crushing the leaves in her fingers and absorbed in her own

thoughts. She was in love, and she pitied her profoundly. But she roused herself from these thoughts and

apologised. "I'm very sorry," she said, "but if I'm dull, it's my nature, and it can't be helped." If it was a

natural defect, however, she found an easy remedy, for she went on to say that she thought Mr. Flushing's

scheme a very good one, only needing a little consideration, which it appeared she had given it by the time

they reached home. By that time they had settled that if anything more was said, they would accept the

When considered in detail by Mr. Flushing and Mrs. Ambrose the expedition proved neither dangerous nor

difficult. They found also that it was not even unusual. Every year at this season English people made parties

which steamed a short way up the river, landed, and looked at the native village, bought a certain number of

things from the natives, and returned again without damage done to mind or body. When it was discovered

that six people really wished the same thing the arrangements were soon carried out.

Since the time of Elizabeth very few people had seen the river, and nothing has been done to change its

appearance from what it was to the eyes of the Elizabethan voyagers. The time of Elizabeth was only distant

from the present time by a moment of space compared with the ages which had passed since the water had

run between those banks, and the green thickets swarmed there, and the small trees had grown to huge

wrinkled trees in solitude. Changing only with the change of the sun and the clouds, the waving green mass

had stood there for century after century, and the water had run between its banks ceaselessly, sometimes

washing away earth and sometimes the branches of trees, while in other parts of the world one town had risen

upon the ruins of another town, and the men in the towns had become more and more articulate and unlike

each other. A few miles of this river were visible from the top of the mountain where some weeks before the

party from the hotel had picnicked. Susan and Arthur had seen it as they kissed each other, and Terence and

Rachel as they sat talking about Richmond, and Evelyn and Perrott as they strolled about, imagining that they

were great captains sent to colonise the world. They had seen the broad blue mark across the sand where it

flowed into the sea, and the green cloud of trees mass themselves about it farther up, and finally hide its

waters altogether from sight. At intervals for the first twenty miles or so houses were scattered on the bank;

by degrees the houses became huts, and, later still, there was neither hut nor house, but trees and grass, which

were seen only by hunters, explorers, or merchants, marching or sailing, but making no settlement.

By leaving Santa Marina early in the morning, driving twenty miles and riding eight, the party, which was

composed finally of six English people, reached the riverside as the night fell. They came cantering through

the treesMr. and Mrs. Flushing, Helen Ambrose, Rachel, Terence, and St. John. The tired little horses then

stopped automatically, and the English dismounted. Mrs. Flushing strode to the riverbank in high spirits.

The day had been long and hot, but she had enjoyed the speed and the open air; she had left the hotel which

she hated, and she found the company to her liking. The river was swirling past in the darkness; they could

just distinguish the smooth moving surface of the water, and the air was full of the sound of it. They stood in

an empty space in the midst of great treetrunks, and out there a little green light moving slightly up and

When they all stood upon its deck they found that it was a very small boat which throbbed gently beneath

them for a few minutes, and then shoved smoothly through the water. They seemed to be driving into the

heart of the night, for the trees closed in front of them, and they could hear all round them the rustling of

leaves. The great darkness had the usual effect of taking away all desire for communication by making their

words sound thin and small; and, after walking round the deck three or four times, they clustered together,

yawning deeply, and looking at the same spot of deep gloom on the banks. Murmuring very low in the

rhythmical tone of one oppressed by the air, Mrs. Flushing began to wonder where they were to sleep, for

they could not sleep downstairs, they could not sleep in a doghole smelling of oil, they could not sleep on

deck, they could not sleepShe yawned profoundly. It was as Helen had foreseen; the question of nakedness

had risen already, although they were half asleep, and almost invisible to each other. With St. John's help she

stretched an awning, and persuaded Mrs. Flushing that she could take off her clothes behind this, and that no

one would notice if by chance some part of her which had been concealed for fortyfive years was laid bare

to the human eye. Mattresses were thrown down, rugs provided, and the three women lay near each other in

The gentlemen, having smoked a certain number of cigarettes, dropped the glowing ends into the river, and

looked for a time at the ripples wrinkling the black water beneath them, undressed too, and lay down at the

other end of the boat. They were very tired, and curtained from each other by the darkness. The light from

one lantern fell upon a few ropes, a few planks of the deck, and the rail of the boat, but beyond that there was

unbroken darkness, no light reached their faces, or the trees which were massed on the sides of the river.

Soon Wilfrid Flushing slept, and Hirst slept. Hewet alone lay awake looking straight up into the sky. The

gentle motion and the black shapes that were drawn ceaselessly across his eyes had the effect of making it

impossible for him to think. Rachel's presence so near him lulled thought asleep. Being so near him, only a

few paces off at the other end of the boat, she made it as impossible for him to think about her as it would

have been impossible to see her if she had stood quite close to him, her forehead against his forehead. In

some strange way the boat became identified with himself, and just as it would have been useless for him to

get up and steer the boat, so was it useless for him to struggle any longer with the irresistible force of his own

feelings. He was drawn on and on away from all he knew, slipping over barriers and past landmarks into

unknown waters as the boat glided over the smooth surface of the river. In profound peace, enveloped in

deeper unconsciousness than had been his for many nights, he lay on deck watching the treetops change

their position slightly against the sky, and arch themselves, and sink and tower huge, until he passed from

seeing them into dreams where he lay beneath the shadow of the vast trees, looking up into the sky.

When they woke next morning they had gone a considerable way up the river; on the right was a high yellow

bank of sand tufted with trees, on the left a swamp quivering with long reeds and tall bamboos on the top of

which, swaying slightly, perched vivid green and yellow birds. The morning was hot and still. After breakfast

they drew chairs together and sat in an irregular semicircle in the bow. An awning above their heads

protected them from the heat of the sun, and the breeze which the boat made aired them softly. Mrs. Flushing

was already dotting and striping her canvas, her head jerking this way and that with the action of a bird

nervously picking up grain; the others had books or pieces of paper or embroidery on their knees, at which

they looked fitfully and again looked at the river ahead. At one point Hewet read part of a poem aloud, but

the number of moving things entirely vanquished his words. He ceased to read, and no one spoke. They

moved on under the shelter of the trees. There was now a covey of red birds feeding on one of the little islets

to the left, or again a bluegreen parrot flew shrieking from tree to tree. As they moved on the country grew

wilder and wilder. The trees and the undergrowth seemed to be strangling each other near the ground in a

multitudinous wrestle; while here and there a splendid tree towered high above the swarm, shaking its thin

green umbrellas lightly in the upper air. Hewet looked at his books again. The morning was peaceful as the

night had been, only it was very strange because he could see it was light, and he could see Rachel and hear

her voice and be near to her. He felt as if he were waiting, as if somehow he were stationary among things

that passed over him and around him, voices, people's bodies, birds, only Rachel too was waiting with him.

He looked at her sometimes as if she must know that they were waiting together, and being drawn on

together, without being able to offer any resistance. Again he read from his book:

Whoever you are holding me now in your hand, Without one thing all will be useless.

A bird gave a wild laugh, a monkey chuckled a malicious question, and, as fire fades in the hot sunshine, his

By degrees as the river narrowed, and the high sandbanks fell to level ground thickly grown with trees, the

sounds of the forest could be heard. It echoed like a hall. There were sudden cries; and then long spaces of

silence, such as there are in a cathedral when a boy's voice has ceased and the echo of it still seems to haunt

about the remote places of the roof. Once Mr. Flushing rose and spoke to a sailor, and even announced that

some time after luncheon the steamer would stop, and they could walk a little way through the forest.

"There are tracks all through the trees there," he explained. "We're no distance from civilisation yet."

He scrutinised his wife's painting. Too polite to praise it openly, he contented himself with cutting off one

half of the picture with one hand, and giving a flourish in the air with the other.

"God!" Hirst exclaimed, staring straight ahead. "Don't you think it's amazingly beautiful?"

"Beautiful?" Helen enquired. It seemed a strange little word, and Hirst and herself both so small that she

"That's where the Elizabethans got their style," he mused, staring into the profusion of leaves and blossoms

"Shakespeare? I hate Shakespeare!" Mrs. Flushing exclaimed; and Wilfrid returned admiringly, "I believe

you're the only person who dares to say that, Alice." But Mrs. Flushing went on painting. She did not appear

to attach much value to her husband's compliment, and painted steadily, sometimes muttering a halfaudible

"Look at Hirst!" Mr. Flushing whispered. His sheet of paper had slipped on to the deck, his head lay back,

Terence picked up the sheet of paper and spread it out before Rachel. It was a continuation of the poem on

God which he had begun in the chapel, and it was so indecent that Rachel did not understand half of it

although she saw that it was indecent. Hewet began to fill in words where Hirst had left spaces, but he soon

ceased; his pencil rolled on deck. Gradually they approached nearer and nearer to the bank on the righthand

side, so that the light which covered them became definitely green, falling through a shade of green leaves,

and Mrs. Flushing set aside her sketch and stared ahead of her in silence. Hirst woke up; they were then

called to luncheon, and while they ate it, the steamer came to a standstill a little way out from the bank. The

boat which was towed behind them was brought to the side, and the ladies were helped into it.

For protection against boredom, Helen put a book of memoirs beneath her arm, and Mrs. Flushing her

paintbox, and, thus equipped, they allowed themselves to be set on shore on the verge of the forest.

They had not strolled more than a few hundred yards along the track which ran parallel with the river before

Helen professed to find it was unbearably hot. The river breeze had ceased, and a hot steamy atmosphere,

"I shall sit down here," she announced, pointing to the trunk of a tree which had fallen long ago and was now

laced across and across by creepers and thonglike brambles. She seated herself, opened her parasol, and

looked at the river which was barred by the stems of trees. She turned her back to the trees which disappeared

"I quite agree," said Mrs. Flushing, and proceeded to undo her paintbox. Her husband strolled about to

select an interesting point of view for her. Hirst cleared a space on the ground by Helen's side, and seated

himself with great deliberation, as if he did not mean to move until he had talked to her for a long time.

Terence and Rachel were left standing by themselves without occupation. Terence saw that the time had

come as it was fated to come, but although he realised this he was completely calm and master of himself. He

chose to stand for a few moments talking to Helen, and persuading her to leave her seat. Rachel joined him

"Of all the people I've ever met," he said, "you're the least adventurous. You might be sitting on green chairs

in Hyde Park. Are you going to sit there the whole afternoon? Aren't you going to walk?"

"Oh, no," said Helen, "one's only got to use one's eye. There's everything hereeverything," she repeated in

"You'll be hot and disagreeable by teatime, we shall be cool and sweet," put in Hirst. Into his eyes as he

looked up at them had come yellow and green reflections from the sky and the branches, robbing them of

their intentness, and he seemed to think what he did not say. It was thus taken for granted by them both that

Terence and Rachel proposed to walk into the woods together; with one look at each other they turned away.

"Goodby. Beware of snakes," Hirst replied. He settled himself still more comfortably under the shade of the

fallen tree and Helen's figure. As they went, Mr. Flushing called after them, "We must start in an hour.

Whether made by man, or for some reason preserved by nature, there was a wide pathway striking through

the forest at right angles to the river. It resembled a drive in an English forest, save that tropical bushes with

their swordlike leaves grew at the side, and the ground was covered with an unmarked springy moss instead

of grass, starred with little yellow flowers. As they passed into the depths of the forest the light grew dimmer,

and the noises of the ordinary world were replaced by those creaking and sighing sounds which suggest to the

traveller in a forest that he is walking at the bottom of the sea. The path narrowed and turned; it was hedged

in by dense creepers which knotted tree to tree, and burst here and there into starshaped crimson blossoms.

The sighing and creaking up above were broken every now and then by the jarring cry of some startled

animal. The atmosphere was close and the air came at them in languid puffs of scent. The vast green light

was broken here and there by a round of pure yellow sunlight which fell through some gap in the immense

umbrella of green above, and in these yellow spaces crimson and black butterflies were circling and settling.

Not only did the silence weigh upon them, but they were both unable to frame any thoughts. There was

something between them which had to be spoken of. One of them had to begin, but which of them was it to

be? Then Hewet picked up a red fruit and threw it as high as he could. When it dropped, he would speak.

They heard the flapping of great wings; they heard the fruit go pattering through the leaves and eventually

"Does this frighten you?" Terence asked when the sound of the fruit falling had completely died away.

She repeated "I like it." She was walking fast, and holding herself more erect than usual. There was another

"That is what I have felt ever since I knew you," he replied. "We are happy together." He did not seem to be

They continued to walk for some time in silence. Their steps unconsciously quickened.

The silence was then broken by their voices which joined in tones of strange unfamiliar sound which formed

no words. Faster and faster they walked; simultaneously they stopped, clasped each other in their arms, then

releasing themselves, dropped to the earth. They sat side by side. Sounds stood out from the background

making a bridge across their silence; they heard the swish of the trees and some beast croaking in a remote

"We love each other," Terence repeated, searching into her face. Their faces were both very pale and quiet,

and they said nothing. He was afraid to kiss her again. By degrees she drew close to him, and rested against

him. In this position they sat for some time. She said "Terence" once; he answered "Rachel."

"Terribleterrible," she murmured after another pause, but in saying this she was thinking as much of the

persistent churning of the water as of her own feeling. On and on it went in the distance, the senseless and

cruel churning of the water. She observed that the tears were running down Terence's cheeks.

The next movement was on his part. A very long time seemed to have passed. He took out his watch.

"And it takes that to get back," said Rachel. She raised herself very slowly. When she was standing up she

stretched her arms and drew a deep breath, half a sigh, half a yawn. She appeared to be very tired. Her cheeks

They began to walk back down the mossy path again. The sighing and creaking continued far overhead, and

the jarring cries of animals. The butterflies were circling still in the patches of yellow sunlight. At first

Terence was certain of his way, but as they walked he became doubtful. They had to stop to consider, and

then to return and start once more, for although he was certain of the direction of the river he was not certain

of striking the point where they had left the others. Rachel followed him, stopping where he stopped, turning

"I don't want to be late," he said, "because" He put a flower into her hand and her fingers closed upon it

quietly. "We're so late so lateso horribly late," he repeated as if he were talking in his sleep. "Ahthis

They found themselves again in the broad path, like the drive in the English forest, where they had started

when they left the others. They walked on in silence as people walking in their sleep, and were oddly

conscious now and again of the mass of their bodies. Then Rachel exclaimed suddenly, "Helen!"

In the sunny space at the edge of the forest they saw Helen still sitting on the treetrunk, her dress showing

very white in the sun, with Hirst still propped on his elbow by her side. They stopped instinctively. At the

sight of other people they could not go on. They stood hand in hand for a minute or two in silence. They

"But we must go on," Rachel insisted at last, in the curious dull tone of voice in which they had both been

speaking, and with a great effort they forced themselves to cover the short distance which lay between them

As they approached, Helen turned round and looked at them. She looked at them for some time without

"Did you meet Mr. Flushing? He has gone to find you. He thought you must be lost, though I told him you

Hirst half turned round and threw his head back so that he looked at the branches crossing themselves in the

"It's fearfully close in those trees," Helen remarked, picking up her book and shaking it free from the dried

blades of grass which had fallen between the leaves. Then they were all silent, looking at the river swirling

past in front of them between the trunks of the trees until Mr. Flushing interrupted them. He broke out of the

"Ah, so you found the way after all. But it's latemuch later than we arranged, Hewet."

He was slightly annoyed, and in his capacity as leader of the expedition, inclined to be dictatorial. He spoke

"Being late wouldn't matter normally, of course," he said, "but when it's a question of keeping the men up to

He gathered them together and made them come down to the riverbank, where the boat was waiting to row

The heat of the day was going down, and over their cups of tea the Flushings tended to become

communicative. It seemed to Terence as he listened to them talking, that existence now went on in two

different layers. Here were the Flushings talking, talking somewhere high up in the air above him, and he and

Rachel had dropped to the bottom of the world together. But with something of a child's directness, Mrs.

Flushing had also the instinct which leads a child to suspect what its elders wish to keep hidden. She fixed

Terence with her vivid blue eyes and addressed herself to him in particular. What would he do, she wanted to

"Would you care for anythin' but savin' yourself? Should I? No, no," she laughed, "not one scrapdon't tell

me. There's only two creatures the ordinary woman cares about," she continued, "her child and her dog; and I

don't believe it's even two with men. One reads a lot about lovethat's why poetry's so dull. But what

Terence murmured something unintelligible. Mr. Flushing, however, had recovered his urbanity. He was

"You must always remember, Alice," he said, "that your upbringing was very unnaturalunusual, I should

say. They had no mother," he explained, dropping something of the formality of his tone; "and a fatherhe

was a very delightful man, I've no doubt, but he cared only for racehorses and Greek statues. Tell them about

"In the stableyard," said Mrs. Flushing. "Covered with ice in winter. We had to get in; if we didn't, we were

whipped. The strong ones livedthe others died. What you call survival of the fittest a most excellent

"And all this going on in the heart of England, in the nineteenth century!" Mr. Flushing exclaimed, turning to

Every word sounded quite distinctly in Terence's ears; but what were they saying, and who were they talking

to, and who were they, these fantastic people, detached somewhere high up in the air? Now that they had

drunk their tea, they rose and leant over the bow of the boat. The sun was going down, and the water was

dark and crimson. The river had widened again, and they were passing a little island set like a dark wedge in

the middle of the stream. Two great white birds with red lights on them stood there on stiltlike legs, and the

beach of the island was unmarked, save by the skeleton print of birds' feet. The branches of the trees on the

bank looked more twisted and angular than ever, and the green of the leaves was lurid and splashed with

"It makes one awfully queer, don't you find?" he complained. "These trees get on one's nervesit's all so

crazy. God's undoubtedly mad. What sane person could have conceived a wilderness like this, and peopled it

Terence attempted to answer him, but Mrs. Ambrose replied instead. She bade him look at the way things

massed themselveslook at the amazing colours, look at the shapes of the trees. She seemed to be protecting

"Yes," said Mr. Flushing. "And in my opinion," he continued, "the absence of population to which Hirst

objects is precisely the significant touch. You must admit, Hirst, that a little Italian town even would

vulgarise the whole scene, would detract from the vastnessthe sense of elemental grandeur." He swept his

hands towards the forest, and paused for a moment, looking at the great green mass, which was now falling

silent. "I own it makes us seem pretty smallus, not them." He nodded his head at a sailor who leant over

the side spitting into the river. "And that, I think, is what my wife feels, the essential superiority of the

peasant" Under cover of Mr. Flushing's words, which continued now gently reasoning with St. John and

persuading him, Terence drew Rachel to the side, pointing ostensibly to a great gnarled treetrunk which had

fallen and lay half in the water. He wished, at any rate, to be near her, but he found that he could say nothing.

They could hear Mr. Flushing flowing on, now about his wife, now about art, now about the future of the

country, little meaningless words floating high in air. As it was becoming cold he began to pace the deck with

Hirst. Fragments of their talk came out distinctly as they passedart, emotion, truth, reality.

But the breeze freshened, and there was a general desire for movement. When the party rearranged

themselves under cover of rugs and cloaks, Terence and Rachel were at opposite ends of the circle, and could

not speak to each other. But as the dark descended, the words of the others seemed to curl up and vanish as

the ashes of burnt paper, and left them sitting perfectly silent at the bottom of the world. Occasional starts of

Thanks to Mr. Flushing's discipline, the right stages of the river were reached at the right hours, and when

next morning after breakfast the chairs were again drawn out in a semicircle in the bow, the launch was

within a few miles of the native camp which was the limit of the journey. Mr. Flushing, as he sat down,

advised them to keep their eyes fixed on the left bank, where they would soon pass a clearing, and in that

clearing, was a hut where Mackenzie, the famous explorer, had died of fever some ten years ago, almost

within reach of civilisationMackenzie, he repeated, the man who went farther inland than any one's been

yet. Their eyes turned that way obediently. The eyes of Rachel saw nothing. Yellow and green shapes did, it

is true, pass before them, but she only knew that one was large and another small; she did not know that they

were trees. These directions to look here and there irritated her, as interruptions irritate a person absorbed in

thought, although she was not thinking of anything. She was annoyed with all that was said, and with the

aimless movements of people's bodies, because they seemed to interfere with her and to prevent her from

speaking to Terence. Very soon Helen saw her staring moodily at a coil of rope, and making no effort to

listen. Mr. Flushing and St. John were engaged in more or less continuous conversation about the future of

the country from a political point of view, and the degree to which it had been explored; the others, with their

Mrs. Ambrose looked and listened obediently enough, but inwardly she was prey to an uneasy mood not

readily to be ascribed to any one cause. Looking on shore as Mr. Flushing bade her, she thought the country

very beautiful, but also sultry and alarming. She did not like to feel herself the victim of unclassified

emotions, and certainly as the launch slipped on and on, in the hot morning sun, she felt herself unreasonably

moved. Whether the unfamiliarity of the forest was the cause of it, or something less definite, she could not

determine. Her mind left the scene and occupied itself with anxieties for Ridley, for her children, for faroff

things, such as old age and poverty and death. Hirst, too, was depressed. He had been looking forward to this

expedition as to a holiday, for, once away from the hotel, surely wonderful things would happen, instead of

which nothing happened, and here they were as uncomfortable, as restrained, as selfconscious as ever. That,

of course, was what came of looking forward to anything; one was always disappointed. He blamed Wilfrid

Flushing, who was so well dressed and so formal; he blamed Hewet and Rachel. Why didn't they talk? He

looked at them sitting silent and selfabsorbed, and the sight annoyed him. He supposed that they were

engaged, or about to become engaged, but instead of being in the least romantic or exciting, that was as dull

as everything else; it annoyed him, too, to think that they were in love. He drew close to Helen and began to

tell her how uncomfortable his night had been, lying on the deck, sometimes too hot, sometimes too cold, and

the stars so bright that he couldn't get to sleep. He had lain awake all night thinking, and when it was light

enough to see, he had written twenty lines of his poem on God, and the awful thing was that he'd practically

proved the fact that God did not exist. He did not see that he was teasing her, and he went on to wonder what

would happen if God did exist"an old gentleman in a beard and a long blue dressing gown, extremely testy

and disagreeable as he's bound to be? Can you suggest a rhyme? God, rod, sodall used; any others?"

Although he spoke much as usual, Helen could have seen, had she looked, that he was also impatient and

disturbed. But she was not called upon to answer, for Mr. Flushing now exclaimed "There!" They looked at

the hut on the bank, a desolate place with a large rent in the roof, and the ground round it yellow, scarred with

"Did they find his dead body there?" Mrs. Flushing exclaimed, leaning forward in her eagerness to see the

"They found his body and his skins and a notebook," her husband replied. But the boat had soon carried them

It was so hot that they scarcely moved, except now to change a foot, or, again, to strike a match. Their eyes,

concentrated upon the bank, were full of the same green reflections, and their lips were slightly pressed

together as though the sights they were passing gave rise to thoughts, save that Hirst's lips moved

intermittently as half consciously he sought rhymes for God. Whatever the thoughts of the others, no one said

anything for a considerable space. They had grown so accustomed to the wall of trees on either side that they

looked up with a start when the light suddenly widened out and the trees came to an end.

Indeed no change could have been greater. On both banks of the river lay an open lawnlike space, grass

covered and planted, for the gentleness and order of the place suggested human care, with graceful trees on

the top of little mounds. As far as they could gaze, this lawn rose and sank with the undulating motion of an

old English park. The change of scene naturally suggested a change of position, grateful to most of them.

"It might be Arundel or Windsor," Mr. Flushing continued, "if you cut down that bush with the yellow

Rows of brown backs paused for a moment and then leapt with a motion as if they were springing over waves

for a moment no one of them could believe that they had really seen live animals in the opena herd of wild

deer, and the sight aroused a childlike excitement in them, dissipating their gloom.

"I've never in my life seen anything bigger than a hare!" Hirst exclaimed with genuine excitement. "What an

Soon afterwards the launch came gradually to a standstill, and the captain explained to Mr. Flushing that it

would be pleasant for the passengers if they now went for a stroll on shore; if they chose to return within an

hour, he would take them on to the village; if they chose to walkit was only a mile or two farther on he

The matter being settled, they were once more put on shore: the sailors, producing raisins and tobacco, leant

upon the rail and watched the six English, whose coats and dresses looked so strange upon the green, wander

off. A joke that was by no means proper set them all laughing, and then they turned round and lay at their

Directly they landed, Terence and Rachel drew together slightly in advance of the others.

Nevertheless, although their position some yards in advance of the others made it possible for them to say

"You love me?" Terence asked at length, breaking the silence painfully. To speak or to be silent was equally

an effort, for when they were silent they were keenly conscious of each other's presence, and yet words were

"Yes, yes," he replied; but there were so many things to be said, and now that they were alone it seemed

necessary to bring themselves still more near, and to surmount a barrier which had grown up since they had

last spoken. It was difficult, frightening even, oddly embarrassing. At one moment he was clearsighted, and,

"Now I'm going to begin at the beginning," he said resolutely. "I'm going to tell you what I ought to have told

you before. In the first place, I've never been in love with other women, but I've had other women. Then I've

great faults. I'm very lazy, I'm moody" He persisted, in spite of her exclamation, "You've got to know the

worst of me. I'm lustful. I'm overcome by a sense of futilityincompetence. I ought never to have asked you

"Oh, our faults!" she cried. "What do they matter?" Then she demanded, "Am I in loveis this being in

Overcome by the charm of her voice and her presence, he exclaimed, "Oh, you're free, Rachel. To you, time

The voices of the others behind them kept floating, now farther, now nearer, and Mrs. Flushing's laugh rose

The shouts were renewed behind, warning them that they were bearing too far to the left. Improving their

course, he continued, "Yes, marriage." The feeling that they could not be united until she knew all about him

She murmured, considered her own life, but could not describe how it looked to her now.

"And the loneliness!" he continued. A vision of walking with her through the streets of London came before

his eyes. "We will go for walks together," he said. The simplicity of the idea relieved them, and for the first

time they laughed. They would have liked had they dared to take each other by the hand, but the

With every word the mist which had enveloped them, making them seem unreal to each other, since the

previous afternoon melted a little further, and their contact became more and more natural. Up through the

sultry southern landscape they saw the world they knew appear clearer and more vividly than it had ever

appeared before As upon that occasion at the hotel when she had sat in the window, the world once more

arranged itself beneath her gaze very vividly and in its true proportions. She glanced curiously at Terence

from time to time, observing his grey coat and his purple tie; observing the man with whom she was to spend

After one of these glances she murmured, "Yes, I'm in love. There's no doubt; I'm in love with you."

Nevertheless, they remained uncomfortably apart; drawn so close together, as she spoke, that there seemed no

division between them, and the next moment separate and far away again. Feeling this painfully, she

But as she looked at him she perceived from the shape of his eyes, the lines about his mouth, and other

"Where I want to fight, you have compassion. You're finer than I am; you're much finer."

He returned her glance and smiled, perceiving, much as she had done, the very small individual things about

her which made her delightful to him. She was his for ever. This barrier being surmounted, innumerable

"A man," she repeated, and a curious sense of possession coming over her, it struck her that she might now

touch him; she put out her hand and lightly touched his cheek. His fingers followed where hers had been, and

the touch of his hand upon his face brought back the overpowering sense of unreality. This body of his was

"What's happened?" he began. "Why did I ask you to marry me? How did it happen?"

"Did you ask me to marry you?" she wondered. They faded far away from each other, and neither of them

"We sat upon the ground," she confirmed him. The recollection of sitting upon the ground, such as it was,

seemed to unite them again, and they walked on in silence, their minds sometimes working with difficulty

and sometimes ceasing to work, their eyes alone perceiving the things round them. Now he would attempt

again to tell her his faults, and why he loved her; and she would describe what she had felt at this time or at

that time, and together they would interpret her feeling. So beautiful was the sound of their voices that by

degrees they scarcely listened to the words they framed. Long silences came between their words, which

were no longer silences of struggle and confusion but refreshing silences, in which trivial thoughts moved

easily. They began to speak naturally of ordinary things, of the flowers and the trees, how they grew there so

red, like garden flowers at home, and there bent and crooked like the arm of a twisted old man.

Very gently and quietly, almost as if it were the blood singing in her veins, or the water of the stream running

over stones, Rachel became conscious of a new feeling within her. She wondered for a moment what it was,

and then said to herself, with a little surprise at recognising in her own person so famous a thing:

"This is happiness, I suppose." And aloud to Terence she spoke, "This is happiness."

On the heels of her words he answered, "This is happiness," upon which they guessed that the feeling had

sprung in both of them the same time. They began therefore to describe how this felt and that felt, how like it

Voices crying behind them never reached through the waters in which they were now sunk. The repetition of

Hewet's name in short, dissevered syllables was to them the crack of a dry branch or the laughter of a bird.

The grasses and breezes sounding and murmuring all round them, they never noticed that the swishing of the

grasses grew louder and louder, and did not cease with the lapse of the breeze. A hand dropped abrupt as iron

on Rachel's shoulder; it might have been a bolt from heaven. She fell beneath it, and the grass whipped across

her eyes and filled her mouth and ears. Through the waving stems she saw a figure, large and shapeless

against the sky. Helen was upon her. Rolled this way and that, now seeing only forests of green, and now the

high blue heaven; she was speechless and almost without sense. At last she lay still, all the grasses shaken

round her and before her by her panting. Over her loomed two great heads, the heads of a man and woman, of

Both were flushed, both laughing, and the lips were moving; they came together and kissed in the air above

her. Broken fragments of speech came down to her on the ground. She thought she heard them speak of love

and then of marriage. Raising herself and sitting up, she too realised Helen's soft body, the strong and

hospitable arms, and happiness swelling and breaking in one vast wave. When this fell away, and the grasses

once more lay low, and the sky became horizontal, and the earth rolled out flat on each side, and the trees

stood upright, she was the first to perceive a little row of human figures standing patiently in the distance. For

Falling into line behind Mr. Flushing, they were careful to leave at least three yards' distance between the toe

He led them across a stretch of green by the riverbank and then through a grove of trees, and bade them

remark the signs of human habitation, the blackened grass, the charred treestumps, and there, through the

trees, strange wooden nests, drawn together in an arch where the trees drew apart, the village which was the

Stepping cautiously, they observed the women, who were squatting on the ground in triangular shapes,

moving their hands, either plaiting straw or in kneading something in bowls. But when they had looked for a

moment undiscovered, they were seen, and Mr. Flushing, advancing into the centre of the clearing, was

engaged in talk with a lean majestic man, whose bones and hollows at once made the shapes of the

Englishman's body appear ugly and unnatural. The women took no notice of the strangers, except that their

hands paused for a moment and their long narrow eyes slid round and fixed upon them with the motionless

inexpensive gaze of those removed from each other far far beyond the plunge of speech. Their hands moved

again, but the stare continued. It followed them as they walked, as they peered into the huts where they could

distinguish guns leaning in the corner, and bowls upon the floor, and stacks of rushes; in the dusk the solemn

eyes of babies regarded them, and old women stared out too. As they sauntered about, the stare followed

them, passing over their legs, their bodies, their heads, curiously not without hostility, like the crawl of a

winter fly. As she drew apart her shawl and uncovered her breast to the lips of her baby, the eyes of a woman

never left their faces, although they moved uneasily under her stare, and finally turned away, rather than

stand there looking at her any longer. When sweetmeats were offered them, they put out great red hands to

take them, and felt themselves treading cumbrously like tightcoated soldiers among these soft instinctive

people. But soon the life of the village took no notice of them; they had become absorbed in it. The women's

hands became busy again with the straw; their eyes dropped. If they moved, it was to fetch something from

the hut, or to catch a straying child, or to cross the space with a jar balanced on their heads; if they spoke, it

was to cry some harsh unintelligible cry. Voices rose when a child was beaten, and fell again; voices rose in

song, which slid up a little way and down a little way, and settled again upon the same low and melancholy

note. Seeking each other, Terence and Rachel drew together under a tree. Peaceful, and even beautiful at first,

the sight of the women, who had given up looking at them, made them now feel very cold and melancholy.

Rachel agreed. So it would go on for ever and ever, she said, those women sitting under the trees, the trees

and the river. They turned away and began to walk through the trees, leaning, without fear of discovery, upon

each other's arms. They had not gone far before they began to assure each other once more that they were in

love, were happy, were content; but why was it so painful being in love, why was there so much pain in

The sight of the village indeed affected them all curiously though all differently. St. John had left the others

and was walking slowly down to the river, absorbed in his own thoughts, which were bitter and unhappy, for

he felt himself alone; and Helen, standing by herself in the sunny space among the native women, was

exposed to presentiments of disaster. The cries of the senseless beasts rang in her ears high and low in the air,

as they ran from treetrunk to treetop. How small the little figures looked wandering through the trees! She

became acutely conscious of the little limbs, the thin veins, the delicate flesh of men and women, which

breaks so easily and lets the life escape compared with these great trees and deep waters. A falling branch, a

foot that slips, and the earth has crushed them or the water drowned them. Thus thinking, she kept her eyes

anxiously fixed upon the lovers, as if by doing so she could protect them from their fate. Turning, she found

They were talking about the things they had bought and arguing whether they were really old, and whether

there were not signs here and there of European influence. Helen was appealed to. She was made to look at a

brooch, and then at a pair of earrings. But all the time she blamed them for having come on this expedition,

for having ventured too far and exposed themselves. Then she roused herself and tried to talk, but in a few

moments she caught herself seeing a picture of a boat upset on the river in England, at midday. It was morbid,

she knew, to imagine such things; nevertheless she sought out the figures of the others between the trees, and

whenever she saw them she kept her eyes fixed on them, so that she might be able to protect them from

But when the sun went down and the steamer turned and began to steam back towards civilisation, again her

fears were calmed. In the semidarkness the chairs on deck and the people sitting in them were angular

shapes, the mouth being indicated by a tiny burning spot, and the arm by the same spot moving up or down as

the cigar or cigarette was lifted to and from the lips. Words crossed the darkness, but, not knowing where

they fell, seemed to lack energy and substance. Deep sights proceeded regularly, although with some attempt

at suppression, from the large white mound which represented the person of Mrs. Flushing. The day had been

long and very hot, and now that all the colours were blotted out the cool night air seemed to press soft fingers

upon the eyelids, sealing them down. Some philosophical remark directed, apparently, at St. John Hirst

missed its aim, and hung so long suspended in the air until it was engulfed by a yawn, that it was considered

dead, and this gave the signal for stirring of legs and murmurs about sleep. The white mound moved, finally

lengthened itself and disappeared, and after a few turns and paces St. John and Mr. Flushing withdrew,

leaving the three chairs still occupied by three silent bodies. The light which came from a lamp high on the

mast and a sky pale with stars left them with shapes but without features; but even in this darkness the

withdrawal of the others made them feel each other very near, for they were all thinking of the same thing.

For some time no one spoke, then Helen said with a sigh, "So you're both very happy?"

As if washed by the air her voice sounded more spiritual and softer than usual. Voices at a little distance

Through the darkness she was looking at them both, and trying to distinguish him. What was there for her to

say? Rachel had passed beyond her guardianship. A voice might reach her ears, but never again would it

carry as far as it had carried twentyfour hours ago. Nevertheless, speech seemed to be due from her before

"D'you realise what you're doing?" she demanded. "She's young, you're both young; and marriage" Here

she ceased. They begged her, however, to continue, with such earnestness in their voices, as if they only

"That's what we want to know," they answered, and she guessed that now they were looking at each other.

"It depends on both of you," she stated. Her face was turned towards Terence, and although he could hardly

see her, he believed that her words really covered a genuine desire to know more about him. He raised

himself from his semirecumbent position and proceeded to tell her what she wanted to know. He spoke as

"I'm twentyseven, and I've about seven hundred a year," he began. "My temper is good on the whole, and

health excellent, though Hirst detects a gouty tendency. Well, then, I think I'm very intelligent." He paused as

"Though, unfortunately, rather lazy. I intend to allow Rachel to be a fool if she wants to, andDo you find

"We shall live in London," he continued, "and" With one voice they suddenly enquired whether she did

Then they fell silent, and Terence and Rachel felt instinctively that their happiness had made her sad, and,

while they were anxious to go on talking about themselves, they did not like to.

"Yes, tell us" Rachel echoed. They were both in the mood to believe that every one was capable of saying

"What can I tell you?" Helen reflected, speaking more to herself in a rambling style than as a prophetess

"After all, though I scold Rachel, I'm not much wiser myself. I'm older, of course, I'm halfway through, and

you're just beginning. It's puzzlingsometimes, I think, disappointing; the great things aren't as great,

perhaps, as one expectsbut it's interesting Oh, yes, you're certain to find it interestingAnd so it goes

on," they became conscious here of the procession of dark trees into which, as far as they could see, Helen

was now looking, "and there are pleasures where one doesn't expect them (you must write to your father), and

you'll be very happy, I've no doubt. But I must go to bed, and if you are sensible you will follow in ten

minutes, and so," she rose and stood before them, almost featureless and very large, "Goodnight." She

After sitting in silence for the greater part of the ten minutes she allowed them, they rose and hung over the

rail. Beneath them the smooth black water slipped away very fast and silently. The spark of a cigarette

After a silence she asked, looking up into the sky, "Are we on the deck of a steamer on a river in South

The great black world lay round them. As they were drawn smoothly along it seemed possessed of immense

thickness and endurance. They could discern pointed treetops and blunt rounded treetops. Raising their

eyes above the trees, they fixed them on the stars and the pale border of sky above the trees. The little points

of frosty light infinitely far away drew their eyes and held them fixed, so that it seemed as if they stayed a

long time and fell a great distance when once more they realised their hands grasping the rail and their

"You'd forgotten completely about me," Terence reproached her, taking her arm and beginning to pace the

"Oh, no," she whispered, she had not forgotten, only the stars the nightthe dark

"You're like a bird half asleep in its nest, Rachel. You're asleep. You're talking in your sleep."

Half asleep, and murmuring broken words, they stood in the angle made by the bow of the boat. It slipped on

down the river. Now a bell struck on the bridge, and they heard the lapping of water as it rippled away on

either side, and once a bird startled in its sleep creaked, flew on to the next tree, and was silent again. The

darkness poured down profusely, and left them with scarcely any feeling of life, except that they were

The darkness fell, but rose again, and as each day spread widely over the earth and parted them from the

strange day in the forest when they had been forced to tell each other what they wanted, this wish of theirs

was revealed to other people, and in the process became slightly strange to themselves. Apparently it was not

anything unusual that had happened; it was that they had become engaged to marry each other. The world,

which consisted for the most part of the hotel and the villa, expressed itself glad on the whole that two people

should marry, and allowed them to see that they were not expected to take part in the work which has to be

done in order that the world shall go on, but might absent themselves for a time. They were accordingly left

alone until they felt the silence as if, playing in a vast church, the door had been shut on them. They were

driven to walk alone, and sit alone, to visit secret places where the flowers had never been picked and the

trees were solitary. In solitude they could express those beautiful but too vast desires which were so oddly

uncomfortable to the ears of other men and women desires for a world, such as their own world which

contained two people seemed to them to be, where people knew each other intimately and thus judged each

They would talk of such questions among books, or out in the sun, or sitting in the shade of a tree

undisturbed. They were no longer embarrassed, or halfchoked with meaning which could not express itself;

they were not afraid of each other, or, like travellers down a twisting river, dazzled with sudden beauties

when the corner is turned; the unexpected happened, but even the ordinary was lovable, and in many ways

preferable to the ecstatic and mysterious, for it was refreshingly solid, and called out effort, and effort under

While Rachel played the piano, Terence sat near her, engaged, as far as the occasional writing of a word in

pencil testified, in shaping the world as it appeared to him now that he and Rachel were going to be married.

It was different certainly. The book called _Silence_ would not now be the same book that it would have

been. He would then put down his pencil and stare in front of him, and wonder in what respects the world

was different it had, perhaps, more solidity, more coherence, more importance, greater depth. Why, even

the earth sometimes seemed to him very deep; not carved into hills and cities and fields, but heaped in great

masses. He would look out of the window for ten minutes at a time; but no, he did not care for the earth swept

of human beings. He liked human beings he liked them, he suspected, better than Rachel did. There she

was, swaying enthusiastically over her music, quite forgetful of him, but he liked that quality in her. He

liked the impersonality which it produced in her. At last, having written down a series of little sentences, with

notes of interrogation attached to them, he observed aloud, "'Women'under the heading Women I've

"'Not really vainer than men. Lack of selfconfidence at the base of most serious faults. Dislike of own sex

traditional, or founded on fact? Every woman not so much a rake at heart, as an optimist, because they don't

think.' What do you say, Rachel?" He paused with his pencil in his hand and a sheet of paper on his knee.

Rachel said nothing. Up and up the steep spiral of a very late Beethoven sonata she climbed, like a person

ascending a ruined staircase, energetically at first, then more laboriously advancing her feet with effort until

she could go no higher and returned with a run to begin at the very bottom again.

"'Again, it's the fashion now to say that women are more practical and less idealistic than men, also that they

have considerable organising ability but no sense of honour'query, what is meant by masculine term,

Attacking her staircase once more, Rachel again neglected this opportunity of revealing the secrets of her sex.

She had, indeed, advanced so far in the pursuit of wisdom that she allowed these secrets to rest undisturbed; it

Crashing down a final chord with her left hand, she exclaimed at last, swinging round upon him:

"No, Terence, it's no good; here am I, the best musician in South America, not to speak of Europe and Asia,

and I can't play a note because of you in the room interrupting me every other second."

"You don't seem to realise that that's what I've been aiming at for the last halfhour," he remarked. "I've no

objection to nice simple tunesindeed, I find them very helpful to my literary composition, but that kind of

thing is merely like an unfortunate old dog going round on its hind legs in the rain."

He began turning over the little sheets of notepaper which were scattered on the table, conveying the

"'all possible wishes for all possible happiness,'" he read; "correct, but not very vivid, are they?"

"They're sheer nonsense!" Rachel exclaimed. "Think of words compared with sounds!" she continued. "Think

of novels and plays and histories" Perched on the edge of the table, she stirred the red and yellow volumes

contemptuously. She seemed to herself to be in a position where she could despise all human learning.

"God, Rachel, you do read trash!" he exclaimed. "And you're behind the times too, my dear. No one dreams

of reading this kind of thing nowantiquated problem plays, harrowing descriptions of life in the east

endoh, no, we've exploded all that. Read poetry, Rachel, poetry, poetry, poetry!"

Picking up one of the books, he began to read aloud, his intention being to satirise the short sharp bark of the

writer's English; but she paid no attention, and after an interval of meditation exclaimed:

"Does it ever seem to you, Terence, that the world is composed entirely of vast blocks of matter, and that

we're nothing but patches of light" she looked at the soft spots of sun wavering over the carpet and up the

"No," said Terence, "I feel solid; immensely solid; the legs of my chair might be rooted in the bowels of the

earth. But at Cambridge, I can remember, there were times when one fell into ridiculous states of semicoma

about five o'clock in the morning. Hirst does now, I expectoh, no, Hirst wouldn't."

Rachel continued, "The day your note came, asking us to go on the picnic, I was sitting where you're sitting

now, thinking that; I wonder if I could think that again? I wonder if the world's changed? and if so, when it'll

"When I first saw you," he began, "I thought you were like a creature who'd lived all its life among pearls and

old bones. Your hands were wet, d'you remember, and you never said a word until I gave you a bit of bread,

"And I thought youa prig," she recollected. "No; that's not quite it. There were the ants who stole the

tongue, and I thought you and St. John were like those antsvery big, very ugly, very energetic, with all

"You fell in love with me," he corrected her. "You were in love with me all the time, only you didn't know

"Rachelwhat a liedidn't you sit here looking at my window didn't you wander about the hotel like an

"No," she repeated, "I never fell in love, if falling in love is what people say it is, and it's the world that tells

She crumpled together a handful of letters from Evelyn M., from Mr. Pepper, from Mrs. Thornbury and Miss

Allan, and Susan Warrington. It was strange, considering how very different these people were, that they

used almost the same sentences when they wrote to congratulate her upon her engagement.

That any one of these people had ever felt what she felt, or could ever feel it, or had even the right to pretend

for a single second that they were capable of feeling it, appalled her much as the church service had done,

much as the face of the hospital nurse had done; and if they didn't feel a thing why did they go and pretend

to? The simplicity and arrogance and hardness of her youth, now concentrated into a single spark as it was by

her love of him, puzzled Terence; being engaged had not that effect on him; the world was different, but not

in that way; he still wanted the things he had always wanted, and in particular he wanted the companionship

of other people more than ever perhaps. He took the letters out of her hand, and protested:

"Of course they're absurd, Rachel; of course they say things just because other people say them, but even so,

what a nice woman Miss Allan is; you can't deny that; and Mrs. Thornbury too; she's got too many children I

grant you, but if halfadozen of them had gone to the bad instead of rising infallibly to the tops of their

trees hasn't she a kind of beautyof elemental simplicity as Flushing would say? Isn't she rather like a

large old tree murmuring in the moonlight, or a river going on and on and on? By the way, Ralph's been made

governor of the Carroway Islandsthe youngest governor in the service; very good, isn't it?"

But Rachel was at present unable to conceive that the vast majority of the affairs of the world went on

"I won't have eleven children," she asserted; "I won't have the eyes of an old woman. She looks at one up and

"We must have a son and we must have a daughter," said Terence, putting down the letters, "because, let

alone the inestimable advantage of being our children, they'd be so well brought up." They went on to sketch

an outline of the ideal education how their daughter should be required from infancy to gaze at a large

square of cardboard painted blue, to suggest thoughts of infinity, for women were grown too practical; and

their sonhe should be taught to laugh at great men, that is, at distinguished successful men, at men who

wore ribands and rose to the tops of their trees. He should in no way resemble (Rachel added) St. John Hirst.

At this Terence professed the greatest admiration for St. John Hirst. Dwelling upon his good qualities he

became seriously convinced of them; he had a mind like a torpedo, he declared, aimed at falsehood. Where

should we all be without him and his like? Choked in weeds; Christians, bigots,why, Rachel herself, would

"But you'll never see it!" he exclaimed; "because with all your virtues you don't, and you never will, care with

every fibre of your being for the pursuit of truth! You've no respect for facts, Rachel; you're essentially

feminine." She did not trouble to deny it, nor did she think good to produce the one unanswerable argument

against the merits which Terence admired. St. John Hirst said that she was in love with him; she would never

"But I like him," she said, and she thought to herself that she also pitied him, as one pities those unfortunate

people who are outside the warm mysterious globe full of changes and miracles in which we ourselves move

She summed up what she felt about him by saying that she would not kiss him supposing he wished it, which

As if some apology were due to Hirst for the kiss which she then bestowed upon him, Terence protested:

"We're wasting the morningI ought to be writing my book, and you ought to be answering these."

"We've only got twentyone whole mornings left," said Rachel. "And my father'll be here in a day or two."

Terence, meanwhile, read a novel which some one else had written, a process which he found essential to the

composition of his own. For a considerable time nothing was to be heard but the ticking of the clock and the

fitful scratch of Rachel's pen, as she produced phrases which bore a considerable likeness to those which she

had condemned. She was struck by it herself, for she stopped writing and looked up; looked at Terence deep

in the armchair, looked at the different pieces of furniture, at her bed in the corner, at the windowpane

which showed the branches of a tree filled in with sky, heard the clock ticking, and was amazed at the gulf

which lay between all that and her sheet of paper. Would there ever be a time when the world was one and

indivisible? Even with Terence himselfhow far apart they could be, how little she knew what was passing

in his brain now! She then finished her sentence, which was awkward and ugly, and stated that they were

"both very happy, and going to be married in the autumn probably and hope to live in London, where we

hope you will come and see us when we get back." Choosing "affectionately," after some further speculation,

rather than sincerely, she signed the letter and was doggedly beginning on another when Terence remarked,

"Listen to this, Rachel. 'It is probable that Hugh' (he's the hero, a literary man), 'had not realised at the time of

his marriage, any more than the young man of parts and imagination usually does realise, the nature of the

gulf which separates the needs and desires of the male from the needs and desires of the female. . . . At first

they had been very happy. The walking tour in Switzerland had been a time of jolly companionship and

stimulating revelations for both of them. Betty had proved herself the ideal comrade. . . . They had shouted

_Love_ _in_ _the_ _Valley_ to each other across the snowy slopes of the Riffelhorn' (and so on, and so

onI'll skip the descriptions). . . . 'But in London, after the boy's birth, all was changed. Betty was an

admirable mother; but it did not take her long to find out that motherhood, as that function is understood by

the mother of the upper middle classes, did not absorb the whole of her energies. She was young and strong,

with healthy limbs and a body and brain that called urgently for exercise. . . .' (In short she began to give

teaparties.) . . . 'Coming in late from this singular talk with old Bob Murphy in his smoky, booklined room,

where the two men had each unloosened his soul to the other, with the sound of the traffic humming in his

ears, and the foggy London sky slung tragically across his mind . . . he found women's hats dotted about

among his papers. Women's wraps and absurd little feminine shoes and umbrellas were in the hall. . . . Then

the bills began to come in. . . . He tried to speak frankly to her. He found her lying on the great polarbear

skin in their bedroom, halfundressed, for they were dining with the Greens in Wilton Crescent, the ruddy

firelight making the diamonds wink and twinkle on her bare arms and in the delicious curve of her breast a

vision of adorable femininity. He forgave her all.' (Well, this goes from bad to worse, and finally about fifty

pages later, Hugh takes a weekend ticket to Swanage and 'has it out with himself on the downs above Corfe.'

. . . Here there's fifteen pages or so which we'll skip. The conclusion is . . .) 'They were different. Perhaps, in

the far future, when generations of men had struggled and failed as he must now struggle and fail, woman

would be, indeed, what she now made a pretence of beingthe friend and companion not the enemy and

"The end of it is, you see, Hugh went back to his wife, poor fellow. It was his duty, as a married man. Lord,

"Well, then, what will it be like when we're married? What are the things people do feel?"

"Sit on the floor and let me look at you," he commanded. Resting her chin on his knee, she looked straight at

"You're not beautiful," he began, "but I like your face. I like the way your hair grows down in a point, and

your eyes too they never see anything. Your mouth's too big, and your cheeks would be better if they had

more colour in them. But what I like about your face is that it makes one wonder what the devil you're

thinking aboutit makes me want to do that" He clenched his fist and shook it so near her that she started

back, "because now you look as if you'd blow my brains out. There are moments," he continued, "when, if we

Hypnotised by the force of his eyes in hers, she repeated, "If we stood on a rock together"

To be flung into the sea, to be washed hither and thither, and driven about the roots of the worldthe idea

was incoherently delightful. She sprang up, and began moving about the room, bending and thrusting aside

the chairs and tables as if she were indeed striking through the waters. He watched her with pleasure; she

seemed to be cleaving a passage for herself, and dealing triumphantly with the obstacles which would hinder

"It does seem possible!" he exclaimed, "though I've always thought it the most unlikely thing in the worldI

shall be in love with you all my life, and our marriage will be the most exciting thing that's ever been done!

We'll never have a moment's peace" He caught her in his arms as she passed him, and they fought for

mastery, imagining a rock, and the sea heaving beneath them. At last she was thrown to the floor, where she

"I'm a mermaid! I can swim," she cried, "so the game's up." Her dress was torn across, and peace being

"And now," she said, "be quiet and tell me about the world; tell me about everything that's ever happened,

and I'll tell you let me see, what can I tell you?I'll tell you about Miss Montgomerie and the river party.

They had spent much time already in thus filling out for the other the course of their past lives, and the

characters of their friends and relations, so that very soon Terence knew not only what Rachel's aunts might

be expected to say upon every occasion, but also how their bedrooms were furnished, and what kind of

bonnets they wore. He could sustain a conversation between Mrs. Hunt and Rachel, and carry on a teaparty

including the Rev. William Johnson and Miss Macquoid, the Christian Scientists, with remarkable likeness to

the truth. But he had known many more people, and was far more highly skilled in the art of narrative than

Rachel was, whose experiences were, for the most part, of a curiously childlike and humorous kind, so that it

He told her not only what had happened, but what he had thought and felt, and sketched for her portraits

which fascinated her of what other men and women might be supposed to be thinking and feeling, so that she

became very anxious to go back to England, which was full of people, where she could merely stand in the

streets and look at them. According to him, too, there was an order, a pattern which made life reasonable, or

if that word was foolish, made it of deep interest anyhow, for sometimes it seemed possible to understand

why things happened as they did. Nor were people so solitary and uncommunicative as she believed. She

should look for vanity for vanity was a common qualityfirst in herself, and then in Helen, in Ridley, in

St. John, they all had their share of it and she would find it in ten people out of every twelve she met; and

once linked together by one such tie she would find them not separate and formidable, but practically

indistinguishable, and she would come to love them when she found that they were like herself.

If she denied this, she must defend her belief that human beings were as various as the beasts at the Zoo,

which had stripes and manes, and horns and humps; and so, wrestling over the entire list of their

acquaintances, and diverging into anecdote and theory and speculation, they came to know each other. The

hours passed quickly, and seemed to them full to leakingpoint. After a night's solitude they were always

The virtues which Mrs. Ambrose had once believed to exist in free talk between men and women did in truth

exist for both of them, although not quite in the measure she prescribed. Far more than upon the nature of sex

they dwelt upon the nature of poetry, but it was true that talk which had no boundaries deepened and enlarged

the strangely small bright view of a girl. In return for what he could tell her she brought him such curiosity

and sensitiveness of perception, that he was led to doubt whether any gift bestowed by much reading and

living was quite the equal of that for pleasure and pain. What would experience give her after all, except a

kind of ridiculous formal balance, like that of a drilled dog in the street? He looked at her face and wondered

how it would look in twenty years' time, when the eyes had dulled, and the forehead wore those little

persistent wrinkles which seem to show that the middleaged are facing something hard which the young do

not see? What would the hard thing be for them, he wondered? Then his thoughts turned to their life in

The thought of England was delightful, for together they would see the old things freshly; it would be

England in June, and there would be June nights in the country; and the nightingales singing in the lanes, into

which they could steal when the room grew hot; and there would be English meadows gleaming with water

and set with stolid cows, and clouds dipping low and trailing across the green hills. As he sat in the room

with her, he wished very often to be back again in the thick of life, doing things with Rachel.

He crossed to the window and exclaimed, "Lord, how good it is to think of lanes, muddy lanes, with brambles

and nettles, you know, and real grass fields, and farmyards with pigs and cows, and men walking beside carts

with pitchforksthere's nothing to compare with that herelook at the stony red earth, and the bright blue

sea, and the glaring white houseshow tired one gets of it! And the air, without a stain or a wrinkle. I'd give

Rachel, too, had been thinking of the English country: the flat land rolling away to the sea, and the woods and

the long straight roads, where one can walk for miles without seeing any one, and the great church towers and

the curious houses clustered in the valleys, and the birds, and the dusk, and the rain falling against the

"But London, London's the place," Terence continued. They looked together at the carpet, as though London

itself were to be seen there lying on the floor, with all its spires and pinnacles pricking through the smoke.

"On the whole, what I should like best at this moment," Terence pondered, "would be to find myself walking

down Kingsway, by those big placards, you know, and turning into the Strand. Perhaps I might go and look

over Waterloo Bridge for a moment. Then I'd go along the Strand past the shops with all the new books in

them, and through the little archway into the Temple. I always like the quiet after the uproar. You hear your

own footsteps suddenly quite loud. The Temple's very pleasant. I think I should go and see if I could find

dear old Hodgkinthe man who writes books about Van Eyck, you know. When I left England he was very

sad about his tame magpie. He suspected that a man had poisoned it. And then Russell lives on the next

staircase. I think you'd like him. He's a passion for Handel. Well, Rachel," he concluded, dismissing the

vision of London, "we shall be doing that together in six weeks' time, and it'll be the middle of June

"And we're certain to have it too," she said. "It isn't as if we were expecting a great dealonly to walk about

"Only a thousand a year and perfect freedom," he replied. "How many people in London d'you think have

"And now you've spoilt it," she complained. "Now we've got to think of the horrors." She looked grudgingly

at the novel which had once caused her perhaps an hour's discomfort, so that she had never opened it again,

but kept it on her table, and looked at it occasionally, as some medieval monk kept a skull, or a crucifix to

"Is it true, Terence," she demanded, "that women die with bugs crawling across their faces?"

"I think it's very probable," he said. "But you must admit, Rachel, that we so seldom think of anything but

Accusing him of an affection of cynicism which was just as bad as sentimentality itself, she left her position

by his side and knelt upon the window sill, twisting the curtain tassels between her fingers. A vague sense of

"What's so detestable in this country," she exclaimed, "is the blue always blue sky and blue sea. It's like a

curtainall the things one wants are on the other side of that. I want to know what's going on behind it. I

hate these divisions, don't you, Terence? One person all in the dark about another person. Now I liked the

Dalloways," she continued, "and they're gone. I shall never see them again. Just by going on a ship we cut

ourselves off entirely from the rest of the world. I want to see England thereLondon thereall sorts of

While she spoke thus half to herself and with increasing vagueness, because her eye was caught by a ship that

had just come into the bay, she did not see that Terence had ceased to stare contentedly in front of him, and

was looking at her keenly and with dissatisfaction. She seemed to be able to cut herself adrift from him, and

to pass away to unknown places where she had no need of him. The thought roused his jealousy.

"I sometimes think you're not in love with me and never will be," he said energetically. She started and turned

"I don't satisfy you in the way you satisfy me," he continued. "There's something I can't get hold of in you.

"Perhaps I ask too much," he went on. "Perhaps it isn't really possible to have what I want. Men and women

It seemed to her now that what he was saying was perfectly true, and that she wanted many more things than

the love of one human being the sea, the sky. She turned again the looked at the distant blue, which was so

smooth and serene where the sky met the sea; she could not possibly want only one human being.

"Or is it only this damnable engagement?" he continued. "Let's be married here, before we go backor is it

They began pacing up and down the room, but although they came very near each other in their pacing, they

took care not to touch each other. The hopelessness of their position overcame them both. They were

impotent; they could never love each other sufficiently to overcome all these barriers, and they could never

be satisfied with less. Realising this with intolerable keenness she stopped in front of him and exclaimed:

The words did more to unite them than any amount of argument. As if they stood on the edge of a precipice

they clung together. They knew that they could not separate; painful and terrible it might be, but they were

joined for ever. They lapsed into silence, and after a time crept together in silence. Merely to be so close

soothed them, and sitting side by side the divisions disappeared, and it seemed as if the world were once more

solid and entire, and as if, in some strange way, they had grown larger and stronger.

It was long before they moved, and when they moved it was with great reluctance. They stood together in

front of the lookingglass, and with a brush tried to make themselves look as if they had been feeling nothing

all the morning, neither pain nor happiness. But it chilled them to see themselves in the glass, for instead of

being vast and indivisible they were really very small and separate, the size of the glass leaving a large space

But no brush was able to efface completely the expression of happiness, so that Mrs. Ambrose could not treat

them when they came downstairs as if they had spent the morning in a way that could be discussed naturally.

This being so, she joined in the world's conspiracy to consider them for the time incapacitated from the

business of life, struck by their intensity of feeling into enmity against life, and almost succeeded in

She reflected that she had done all that it was necessary to do in practical matters. She had written a great

many letters, and had obtained Willoughby's consent. She had dwelt so often upon Mr. Hewet's prospects, his

profession, his birth, appearance, and temperament, that she had almost forgotten what he was really like.

When she refreshed herself by a look at him, she used to wonder again what he was like, and then,

She might more profitably consider what would happen in three years' time, or what might have happened if

Rachel had been left to explore the world under her father's guidance. The result, she was honest enough to

own, might have been betterwho knows? She did not disguise from herself that Terence had faults. She

was inclined to think him too easy and tolerant, just as he was inclined to think her perhaps a trifle hardno,

it was rather that she was uncompromising. In some ways she found St. John preferable; but then, of course,

he would never have suited Rachel. Her friendship with St. John was established, for although she fluctuated

between irritation and interest in a way that did credit to the candour of her disposition, she liked his

company on the whole. He took her outside this little world of love and emotion. He had a grasp of facts.

Supposing, for instance, that England made a sudden move towards some unknown port on the coast of

Morocco, St. John knew what was at the back of it, and to hear him engaged with her husband in argument

about finance and the balance of power, gave her an odd sense of stability. She respected their arguments

without always listening to them, much as she respected a solid brick wall, or one of those immense

municipal buildings which, although they compose the greater part of our cities, have been built day after day

and year after year by unknown hands. She liked to sit and listen, and even felt a little elated when the

engaged couple, after showing their profound lack of interest, slipped from the room, and were seen pulling

flowers to pieces in the garden. It was not that she was jealous of them, but she did undoubtedly envy them

their great unknown future that lay before them. Slipping from one such thought to another, she was at the

diningroom with fruit in her hands. Sometimes she stopped to straighten a candle stooping with the heat, or

disturbed some too rigid arrangement of the chairs. She had reason to suspect that Chailey had been

balancing herself on the top of a ladder with a wet duster during their absence, and the room had never been

quite like itself since. Returning from the diningroom for the third time, she perceived that one of the

armchairs was now occupied by St. John. He lay back in it, with his eyes half shut, looking, as he always

did, curiously buttoned up in a neat grey suit and fenced against the exuberance of a foreign climate which

might at any moment proceed to take liberties with him. Her eyes rested on him gently and then passed on

"I didn't want to come here," he said at last, "but I was positively driven to it. . . . Evelyn M.," he groaned.

He sat up, and began to explain with mock solemnity how the detestable woman was set upon marrying him.

"She pursues me about the place. This morning she appeared in the smokingroom. All I could do was to

seize my hat and fly. I didn't want to come, but I couldn't stay and face another meal with her."

"Well, we must make the best of it," Helen replied philosophically. It was very hot, and they were indifferent

to any amount of silence, so that they lay back in their chairs waiting for something to happen. The bell rang

for luncheon, but there was no sound of movement in the house. Was there any news? Helen asked; anything

in the papers? St. John shook his head. O yes, he had a letter from home, a letter from his mother, describing

the suicide of the parlourmaid. She was called Susan Jane, and she came into the kitchen one afternoon, and

said that she wanted cook to keep her money for her; she had twenty pounds in gold. Then she went out to

buy herself a hat. She came in at halfpast five and said that she had taken poison. They had only just time to

Why had she done it? He shrugged his shoulders. Why do people kill themselves? Why do the lower orders

When they appeared, St. John explained why it had been necessary for him to come to luncheon. He imitated

Evelyn's enthusiastic tone as she confronted him in the smokingroom. "She thinks there can be nothing

_quite_ so thrilling as mathematics, so I've lent her a large work in two volumes. It'll be interesting to see

Rachel could now afford to laugh at him. She reminded him of Gibbon; she had the first volume somewhere

still; if he were undertaking the education of Evelyn, that surely was the test; or she had heard that Burke,

upon the American RebellionEvelyn ought to read them both simultaneously. When St. John had disposed

of her argument and had satisfied his hunger, he proceeded to tell them that the hotel was seething with

scandals, some of the most appalling kind, which had happened in their absence; he was indeed much given

"Oh, yes, I've heard about Sinclair. He's retired to his mine with a revolver. He writes to Evelyn daily that

he's thinking of committing suicide. I've assured her that he's never been so happy in his life, and, on the

"But then she's entangled herself with Perrott," St. John continued; "and I have reason to think, from

something I saw in the passage, that everything isn't as it should be between Arthur and Susan. There's a

young female lately arrived from Manchester. A very good thing if it were broken off, in my opinion. Their

Oh, and I distinctly heard old Mrs. Paley rapping out the most fearful oaths as I passed her bedroom door. It's

supposed that she tortures her maid in privateit's practically certain she does. One can tell it from the look

"When you're eighty and the gout tweezes you, you'll be swearing like a trooper," Terence remarked. "You'll

be very fat, very testy, very disagreeable. Can't you imagine himbald as a coot, with a pair of spongebag

After a pause Hirst remarked that the worst infamy had still to be told. He addressed himself to Helen.

"They've hoofed out the prostitute. One night while we were away that old numskull Thornbury was

doddering about the passages very late. (Nobody seems to have asked him what _he_ was up to.) He saw the

Signora Lola Mendoza, as she calls herself, cross the passage in her nightgown. He communicated his

suspicions next morning to Elliot, with the result that Rodriguez went to the woman and gave her

twentyfour hours in which to clear out of the place. No one seems to have enquired into the truth of the

story, or to have asked Thornbury and Elliot what business it was of theirs; they had it entirely their own way.

I propose that we should all sign a Round Robin, go to Rodriguez in a body, and insist upon a full enquiry.

"Still," he added, "it's a great shame, poor woman; only I don't see what's to be done"

"I quite agree with you, St. John," Helen burst out. "It's monstrous. The hypocritical smugness of the English

makes my blood boil. A man who's made a fortune in trade as Mr. Thornbury has is bound to be twice as bad

She respected St. John's morality, which she took far more seriously than any one else did, and now entered

into a discussion with him as to the steps that were to be taken to enforce their peculiar view of what was

right. The argument led to some profoundly gloomy statements of a general nature. Who were they, after

all what authority had theywhat power against the mass of superstition and ignorance? It was the

English, of course; there must be something wrong in the English blood. Directly you met an English person,

of the middle classes, you were conscious of an indefinable sensation of loathing; directly you saw the brown

crescent of houses above Dover, the same thing came over you. But unfortunately St. John added, you

They were interrupted by sounds of strife at the further end of the table. Rachel appealed to her aunt.

"Terence says we must go to tea with Mrs. Thornbury because she's been so kind, but I don't see it; in fact, I'd

rather have my right hand sawn in piecesjust imagine! the eyes of all those women!"

"Fiddlesticks, Rachel," Terence replied. "Who wants to look at you? You're consumed with vanity! You're a

monster of conceit! Surely, Helen, you ought to have taught her by this time that she's a person of no

conceivable importance whatevernot beautiful, or well dressed, or conspicuous for elegance or intellect, or

deportment. A more ordinary sight than you are," he concluded, "except for the tear across your dress has

She appealed again to her aunt. It wasn't the being looked at, she explained, but the things people were sure to

say. The women in particular. She liked women, but where emotion was concerned they were as flies on a

lump of sugar. They would be certain to ask her questions. Evelyn M. would say: "Are you in love? Is it nice

being in love?" And Mrs. Thornburyher eyes would go up and down, up and down she shuddered at the

thought of it. Indeed, the retirement of their life since their engagement had made her so sensitive, that she

She found an ally in Helen, who proceeded to expound her views of the human race, as she regarded with

complacency the pyramid of variegated fruits in the centre of the table. It wasn't that they were cruel, or

meant to hurt, or even stupid exactly; but she had always found that the ordinary person had so little emotion

in his own life that the scent of it in the lives of others was like the scent of blood in the nostrils of a

"Directly anything happensit may be a marriage, or a birth, or a deathon the whole they prefer it to be a

deathevery one wants to see you. They insist upon seeing you. They've got nothing to say; they don't care a

rap for you; but you've got to go to lunch or to tea or to dinner, and if you don't you're damned. It's the smell

of blood," she continued; "I don't blame 'em; only they shan't have mind if I know it!"

She looked about her as if she had called up a legion of human beings, all hostile and all disagreeable, who

encircled the table, with mouths gaping for blood, and made it appear a little island of neutral country in the

Her words roused her husband, who had been muttering rhythmically to himself, surveying his guests and his

food and his wife with eyes that were now melancholy and now fierce, according to the fortunes of the lady

in his ballad. He cut Helen short with a protest. He hated even the semblance of cynicism in women.

Terence and Rachel glanced at each other across the table, which meant that when they were married they

would not behave like that. The entrance of Ridley into the conversation had a strange effect. It became at

once more formal and more polite. It would have been impossible to talk quite easily of anything that came

into their heads, and to say the word prostitute as simply as any other word. The talk now turned upon

literature and politics, and Ridley told stories of the distinguished people he had known in his youth. Such

talk was of the nature of an art, and the personalities and informalities of the young were silenced. As they

"You've all been sitting here," she said, "for almost an hour, and you haven't noticed my figs, or my flowers,

or the way the light comes through, or anything. I haven't been listening, because I've been looking at you.

She led the way to the drawingroom, where she took up her embroidery, and began again to dissuade

Terence from walking down to the hotel in this heat. But the more she dissuaded, the more he was determined

to go. He became irritated and obstinate. There were moments when they almost disliked each other. He

wanted other people; he wanted Rachel, to see them with him. He suspected that Mrs. Ambrose would now

try to dissuade her from going. He was annoyed by all this space and shade and beauty, and Hirst, recumbent,

"If you go, Hewet, I wish you'd make enquiries about the prostitute," said Hirst. "Look here," he added, "I'll

Greatly to their surprise he raised himself, looked at his watch, and remarked that, as it was now half an hour

since luncheon, the gastric juices had had sufficient time to secrete; he was trying a system, he explained,

which involved short spells of exercise interspaced by longer intervals of rest.

"I shall be back at four," he remarked to Helen, "when I shall lie down on the sofa and relax all my muscles

Was she sad, or was she really laughing? Rachel could not tell, and she felt for the moment very

uncomfortable between Helen and Terence. Then she turned away, saying merely that she would go with

A narrow border of shadow ran along the road, which was broad enough for two, but not broad enough for

three. St. John therefore dropped a little behind the pair, and the distance between them increased by degrees.

Walking with a view to digestion, and with one eye upon his watch, he looked from time to time at the pair in

front of him. They seemed to be so happy, so intimate, although they were walking side by side much as

other people walk. They turned slightly toward each other now and then, and said something which he

thought must be something very private. They were really disputing about Helen's character, and Terence was

trying to explain why it was that she annoyed him so much sometimes. But St. John thought that they were

saying things which they did not want him to hear, and was led to think of his own isolation. These people

were happy, and in some ways he despised them for being made happy so simply, and in other ways he

envied them. He was much more remarkable than they were, but he was not happy. People never liked him;

he doubted sometimes whether even Helen liked him. To be simple, to be able to say simply what one felt,

without the terrific selfconsciousness which possessed him, and showed him his own face and words

perpetually in a mirror, that would be worth almost any other gift, for it made one happy. Happiness,

happiness, what was happiness? He was never happy. He saw too clearly the little vices and deceits and flaws

of life, and, seeing them, it seemed to him honest to take notice of them. That was the reason, no doubt, why

people generally disliked him, and complained that he was heartless and bitter. Certainly they never told him

the things he wanted to be told, that he was nice and kind, and that they liked him. But it was true that half

the sharp things that he said about them were said because he was unhappy or hurt himself. But he admitted

that he had very seldom told any one that he cared for them, and when he had been demonstrative, he had

generally regretted it afterwards. His feelings about Terence and Rachel were so complicated that he had

never yet been able to bring himself to say that he was glad that they were going to be married. He saw their

faults so clearly, and the inferior nature of a great deal of their feeling for each other, and he expected that

their love would not last. He looked at them again, and, very strangely, for he was so used to thinking that he

seldom saw anything, the look of them filled him with a simple emotion of affection in which there were

some traces of pity also. What, after all, did people's faults matter in comparison with what was good in

them? He resolved that he would now tell them what he felt. He quickened his pace and came up with them

just as they reached the corner where the lane joined the main road. They stood still and began to laugh at

him, and to ask him whether the gastric juicesbut he stopped them and began to speak very quickly and

"D'you remember the morning after the dance?" he demanded. "It was here we sat, and you talked nonsense,

and Rachel made little heaps of stones. I, on the other hand, had the whole meaning of life revealed to me in a

flash." He paused for a second, and drew his lips together in a tight little purse. "Love," he said. "It seems to

me to explain everything. So, on the whole, I'm very glad that you two are going to be married." He then

turned round abruptly, without looking at them, and walked back to the villa. He felt both exalted and

ashamed of himself for having thus said what he felt. Probably they were laughing at him, probably they

It was true that they laughed when he was gone; but the dispute about Helen which had become rather sharp,

They reached the hotel rather early in the afternoon, so that most people were still lying down, or sitting

speechless in their bedrooms, and Mrs. Thornbury, although she had asked them to tea, was nowhere to be

seen. They sat down, therefore, in the shady hall, which was almost empty, and full of the light swishing

sounds of air going to and fro in a large empty space. Yes, this armchair was the same armchair in which

Rachel had sat that afternoon when Evelyn came up, and this was the magazine she had been looking at, and

this the very picture, a picture of New York by lamplight. How odd it seemednothing had changed.

By degrees a certain number of people began to come down the stairs and to pass through the hall, and in this

dim light their figures possessed a sort of grace and beauty, although they were all unknown people.

Sometimes they went straight through and out into the garden by the swing door, sometimes they stopped for

a few minutes and bent over the tables and began turning over the newspapers. Terence and Rachel sat

watching them through their halfclosed eyelids the Johnsons, the Parkers, the Baileys, the Simmons', the

Lees, the Morleys, the Campbells, the Gardiners. Some were dressed in white flannels and were carrying

racquets under their arms, some were short, some tall, some were only children, and some perhaps were

servants, but they all had their standing, their reason for following each other through the hall, their money,

their position, whatever it might be. Terence soon gave up looking at them, for he was tired; and, closing his

eyes, he fell half asleep in his chair. Rachel watched the people for some time longer; she was fascinated by

the certainty and the grace of their movements, and by the inevitable way in which they seemed to follow

each other, and loiter and pass on and disappear. But after a time her thoughts wandered, and she began to

think of the dance, which had been held in this room, only then the room itself looked quite different.

Glancing round, she could hardly believe that it was the same room. It had looked so bare and so bright and

formal on that night when they came into it out of the darkness; it had been filled, too, with little red, excited

faces, always moving, and people so brightly dressed and so animated that they did not seem in the least like

real people, nor did you feel that you could talk to them. And now the room was dim and quiet, and beautiful

silent people passed through it, to whom you could go and say anything you liked. She felt herself amazingly

secure as she sat in her armchair, and able to review not only the night of the dance, but the entire past,

tenderly and humorously, as if she had been turning in a fog for a long time, and could now see exactly where

she had turned. For the methods by which she had reached her present position, seemed to her very strange,

and the strangest thing about them was that she had not known where they were leading her. That was the

strange thing, that one did not know where one was going, or what one wanted, and followed blindly,

suffering so much in secret, always unprepared and amazed and knowing nothing; but one thing led to

another and by degrees something had formed itself out of nothing, and so one reached at last this calm, this

quiet, this certainty, and it was this process that people called living. Perhaps, then, every one really knew as

she knew now where they were going; and things formed themselves into a pattern not only for her, but for

them, and in that pattern lay satisfaction and meaning. When she looked back she could see that a meaning of

some kind was apparent in the lives of her aunts, and in the brief visit of the Dalloways whom she would

The sound of Terence, breathing deep in his slumber, confirmed her in her calm. She was not sleepy although

she did not see anything very distinctly, but although the figures passing through the hall became vaguer and

vaguer, she believed that they all knew exactly where they were going, and the sense of their certainty filled

her with comfort. For the moment she was as detached and disinterested as if she had no longer any lot in life,

and she thought that she could now accept anything that came to her without being perplexed by the form in

which it appeared. What was there to frighten or to perplex in the prospect of life? Why should this insight

ever again desert her? The world was in truth so large, so hospitable, and after all it was so simple. "Love,"

St. John had said, "that seems to explain it all." Yes, but it was not the love of man for woman, of Terence for

Rachel. Although they sat so close together, they had ceased to be little separate bodies; they had ceased to

struggle and desire one another. There seemed to be peace between them. It might be love, but it was not the

Through her halfclosed eyelids she watched Terence lying back in his chair, and she smiled as she saw how

big his mouth was, and his chin so small, and his nose curved like a switchback with a knob at the end.

Naturally, looking like that he was lazy, and ambitious, and full of moods and faults. She remembered their

quarrels, and in particular how they had been quarreling about Helen that very afternoon, and she thought

how often they would quarrel in the thirty, or forty, or fifty years in which they would be living in the same

house together, catching trains together, and getting annoyed because they were so different. But all this was

superficial, and had nothing to do with the life that went on beneath the eyes and the mouth and the chin, for

that life was independent of her, and independent of everything else. So too, although she was going to marry

him and to live with him for thirty, or forty, or fifty years, and to quarrel, and to be so close to him, she was

independent of him; she was independent of everything else. Nevertheless, as St. John said, it was love that

made her understand this, for she had never felt this independence, this calm, and this certainty until she fell

For perhaps two minutes Miss Allan had been standing at a little distance looking at the couple lying back so

peacefully in their armchairs. She could not make up her mind whether to disturb them or not, and then,

seeming to recollect something, she came across the hall. The sound of her approach woke Terence, who sat

"Well," she was saying, "this is very nice. It is very nice indeed. Getting engaged seems to be quite the

fashion. It cannot often happen that two couples who have never seen each other before meet in the same

hotel and decide to get married." Then she paused and smiled, and seemed to have nothing more to say, so

that Terence rose and asked her whether it was true that she had finished her book. Some one had said that

she had really finished it. Her face lit up; she turned to him with a livelier expression than usual.

"Yes, I think I can fairly say I have finished it," she said. "That is, omitting SwinburneBeowulf to

BrowningI rather like the two B's myself. Beowulf to Browning," she repeated, "I think that is the kind of

She was indeed very proud that she had finished her book, for no one knew what an amount of determination

had gone to the making of it. Also she thought that it was a good piece of work, and, considering what

anxiety she had been in about her brother while she wrote it, she could not resist telling them a little more

"I must confess," she continued, "that if I had known how many classics there are in English literature, and

how verbose the best of them contrive to be, I should never have undertaken the work. They only allow one

"Yes, and one has to say something about everybody," Miss Allan added. "That is what I find so difficult,

saying something different about everybody." Then she thought that she had said enough about herself, and

she asked whether they had come down to join the tennis tournament. "The young people are very keen about

Her gaze rested benevolently upon them both, and, after a momentary pause, she remarked, looking at Rachel

as if she had remembered something that would serve to keep her distinct from other people.

"You're the remarkable person who doesn't like ginger." But the kindness of the smile in her rather worn and

courageous face made them feel that although she would scarcely remember them as individuals, she had laid

"And in that I quite agree with her," said a voice behind; Mrs. Thornbury had overheard the last few words

about not liking ginger. "It's associated in my mind with a horrid old aunt of ours (poor thing, she suffered

dreadfully, so it isn't fair to call her horrid) who used to give it to us when we were small, and we never had

the courage to tell her we didn't like it. We just had to put it out in the shrubberyshe had a big house near

They began moving slowly across the hall, when they were stopped by the impact of Evelyn, who dashed into

them, as though in running downstairs to catch them her legs had got beyond her control.

"Well," she exclaimed, with her usual enthusiasm, seizing Rachel by the arm, "I call this splendid! I guessed

it was going to happen from the very beginning! I saw you two were made for each other. Now you've just

got to tell me all about itwhen's it to be, where are you going to liveare you both tremendously happy?"

But the attention of the group was diverted to Mrs. Elliot, who was passing them with her eager but uncertain

movement, carrying in her hands a plate and an empty hotwater bottle. She would have passed them, but

"Thank you, Hughling's better," she replied, in answer to Mrs. Thornbury's enquiry, "but he's not an easy

patient. He wants to know what his temperature is, and if I tell him he gets anxious, and if I don't tell him he

suspects. You know what men are when they're ill! And of course there are none of the proper appliances,

and, though he seems very willing and anxious to help" (here she lowered her voice mysteriously), "one can't

feel that Dr. Rodriguez is the same as a proper doctor. If you would come and see him, Mr. Hewet," she

added, "I know it would cheer him uplying there in bed all day and the fliesBut I must go and find

Angelothe food here of course, with an invalid, one wants things particularly nice." And she hurried

past them in search of the head waiter. The worry of nursing her husband had fixed a plaintive frown upon

her forehead; she was pale and looked unhappy and more than usually inefficient, and her eyes wandered

"Poor thing!" Mrs. Thornbury exclaimed. She told them that for some days Hughling Elliot had been ill, and

the only doctor available was the brother of the proprietor, or so the proprietor said, whose right to the title of

"I know how wretched it is to be ill in a hotel," Mrs. Thornbury remarked, once more leading the way with

Rachel to the garden. "I spent six weeks on my honeymoon in having typhoid at Venice," she continued. "But

even so, I look back upon them as some of the happiest weeks in my life. Ah, yes," she said, taking Rachel's

arm, "you think yourself happy now, but it's nothing to the happiness that comes afterwards. And I assure you

I could find it in my heart to envy you young people! You've a much better time than we had, I may tell you.

When I look back upon it, I can hardly believe how things have changed. When we were engaged I wasn't

allowed to go for walks with William alonesome one had always to be in the room with usI really

believe I had to show my parents all his letters! though they were very fond of him too. Indeed, I may say

they looked upon him as their own son. It amuses me," she continued, "to think how strict they were to us,

The table was laid under the tree again, and taking her place before the teacups, Mrs. Thornbury beckoned

and nodded until she had collected quite a number of people, Susan and Arthur and Mr. Pepper, who were

strolling about, waiting for the tournament to begin. A murmuring tree, a river brimming in the moonlight,

Terence's words came back to Rachel as she sat drinking the tea and listening to the words which flowed on

so lightly, so kindly, and with such silvery smoothness. This long life and all these children had left her very

smooth; they seemed to have rubbed away the marks of individuality, and to have left only what was old and

"And the things you young people are going to see!" Mrs. Thornbury continued. She included them all in her

forecast, she included them all in her maternity, although the party comprised William Pepper and Miss

Allan, both of whom might have been supposed to have seen a fair share of the panorama. "When I see how

the world has changed in my lifetime," she went on, "I can set no limit to what may happen in the next fifty

years. Ah, no, Mr. Pepper, I don't agree with you in the least," she laughed, interrupting his gloomy remark

about things going steadily from bad to worse. "I know I ought to feel that, but I don't, I'm afraid. They're

going to be much better people than we were. Surely everything goes to prove that. All round me I see

women, young women, women with household cares of every sort, going out and doing things that we should

Mr. Pepper thought her sentimental and irrational like all old women, but her manner of treating him as if he

were a cross old baby baffled him and charmed him, and he could only reply to her with a curious grimace

"And they remain women," Mrs. Thornbury added. "They give a great deal to their children."

As she said this she smiled slightly in the direction of Susan and Rachel. They did not like to be included in

the same lot, but they both smiled a little selfconsciously, and Arthur and Terence glanced at each other too.

She made them feel that they were all in the same boat together, and they looked at the women they were

going to marry and compared them. It was inexplicable how any one could wish to marry Rachel, incredible

that any one should be ready to spend his life with Susan; but singular though the other's taste must be, they

bore each other no illwill on account of it; indeed, they liked each other rather the better for the eccentricity

"I really must congratulate you," Susan remarked, as she leant across the table for the jam.

There seemed to be no foundation for St. John's gossip about Arthur and Susan. Sunburnt and vigorous they

sat side by side, with their racquets across their knees, not saying much but smiling slightly all the time.

Through the thin white clothes which they wore, it was possible to see the lines of their bodies and legs, the

beautiful curves of their muscles, his leanness and her flesh, and it was natural to think of the firmfleshed

sturdy children that would be theirs. Their faces had too little shape in them to be beautiful, but they had clear

eyes and an appearance of great health and power of endurance, for it seemed as if the blood would never

cease to run in his veins, or to lie deeply and calmly in her cheeks. Their eyes at the present moment were

brighter than usual, and wore the peculiar expression of pleasure and selfconfidence which is seen in the

eyes of athletes, for they had been playing tennis, and they were both firstrate at the game.

Evelyn had not spoken, but she had been looking from Susan to Rachel. Wellthey had both made up their

minds very easily, they had done in a very few weeks what it sometimes seemed to her that she would never

be able to do. Although they were so different, she thought that she could see in each the same look of

satisfaction and completion, the same calmness of manner, and the same slowness of movement. It was that

slowness, that confidence, that content which she hated, she thought to herself. They moved so slowly

because they were not single but double, and Susan was attached to Arthur, and Rachel to Terence, and for

the sake of this one man they had renounced all other men, and movement, and the real things of life. Love

was all very well, and those snug domestic houses, with the kitchen below and the nursery above, which were

so secluded and selfcontained, like little islands in the torrents of the world; but the real things were surely

the things that happened, the causes, the wars, the ideals, which happened in the great world outside, and

went so independently of these women, turning so quietly and beautifully towards the men. She looked at

them sharply. Of course they were happy and content, but there must be better things than that. Surely one

could get nearer to life, one could get more out of life, one could enjoy more and feel more than they would

ever do. Rachel in particular looked so youngwhat could she know of life? She became restless, and

getting up, crossed over to sit beside Rachel. She reminded her that she had promised to join her club.

"The bother is," she went on, "that I mayn't be able to start work seriously till October. I've just had a letter

from a friend of mine whose brother is in business in Moscow. They want me to stay with them, and as

they're in the thick of all the conspiracies and anarchists, I've a good mind to stop on my way home. It sounds

too thrilling." She wanted to make Rachel see how thrilling it was. "My friend knows a girl of fifteen who's

been sent to Siberia for life merely because they caught her addressing a letter to an anarchist. And the letter

wasn't from her, either. I'd give all I have in the world to help on a revolution against the Russian

She looked from Rachel to Terence. They were both a little touched by the sight of her remembering how

lately they had been listening to evil words about her, and Terence asked her what her scheme was, and she

explained that she was going to found a cluba club for doing things, really doing them. She became very

animated, as she talked on and on, for she professed herself certain that if once twenty peopleno, ten would

be enough if they were keenset about doing things instead of talking about doing them, they could abolish

almost every evil that exists. It was brains that were needed. If only people with brainsof course they

would want a room, a nice room, in Bloomsbury preferably, where they could meet once a week. . . .

As she talked Terence could see the traces of fading youth in her face, the lines that were being drawn by talk

and excitement round her mouth and eyes, but he did not pity her; looking into those bright, rather hard, and

very courageous eyes, he saw that she did not pity herself, or feel any desire to exchange her own life for the

more refined and orderly lives of people like himself and St. John, although, as the years went by, the fight

would become harder and harder. Perhaps, though, she would settle down; perhaps, after all, she would marry

Perrott. While his mind was half occupied with what she was saying, he thought of her probable destiny, the

Terence smoked and Arthur smoked and Evelyn smoked, so that the air was full of the mist and fragrance of

good tobacco. In the intervals when no one spoke, they heard far off the low murmur of the sea, as the waves

quietly broke and spread the beach with a film of water, and withdrew to break again. The cool green light

fell through the leaves of the tree, and there were soft crescents and diamonds of sunshine upon the plates and

the tablecloth. Mrs. Thornbury, after watching them all for a time in silence, began to ask Rachel kindly

questionsWhen did they all go back? Oh, they expected her father. She must want to see her fatherthere

would be a great deal to tell him, and (she looked sympathetically at Terence) he would be so happy, she felt

sure. Years ago, she continued, it might have been ten or twenty years ago, she remembered meeting Mr.

Vinrace at a party, and, being so much struck by his face, which was so unlike the ordinary face one sees at a

party, that she had asked who he was, and she was told that it was Mr. Vinrace, and she had always

remembered the name,an uncommon name,and he had a lady with him, a very sweetlooking woman,

but it was one of those dreadful London crushes, where you don't talk,you only look at each other,and

although she had shaken hands with Mr. Vinrace, she didn't think they had said anything. She sighed very

Then she turned to Mr. Pepper, who had become very dependent on her, so that he always chose a seat near

her, and attended to what she was saying, although he did not often make any remark of his own.

"You who know everything, Mr. Pepper," she said, "tell us how did those wonderful French ladies manage

their salons? Did we ever do anything of the same kind in England, or do you think that there is some reason

Mr. Pepper was pleased to explain very accurately why there has never been an English salon. There were

three reasons, and they were very good ones, he said. As for himself, when he went to a party, as one was

sometimes obliged to, from a wish not to give offence his niece, for example, had been married the other

dayhe walked into the middle of the room, said "Ha! ha!" as loud as ever he could, considered that he had

done his duty, and walked away again. Mrs. Thornbury protested. She was going to give a party directly she

got back, and they were all to be invited, and she should set people to watch Mr. Pepper, and if she heard that

he had been caught saying "Ha! ha!" she wouldshe would do something very dreadful indeed to him.

Arthur Venning suggested that what she must do was to rig up something in the nature of a surprisea

portrait, for example, of a nice old lady in a lace cap, concealing a bath of cold water, which at a signal could

be sprung on Pepper's head; or they'd have a chair which shot him twenty feet high directly he sat on it.

Susan laughed. She had done her tea; she was feeling very well contented, partly because she had been

playing tennis brilliantly, and then every one was so nice; she was beginning to find it so much easier to talk,

and to hold her own even with quite clever people, for somehow clever people did not frighten her any more.

Even Mr. Hirst, whom she had disliked when she first met him, really wasn't disagreeable; and, poor man, he

always looked so ill; perhaps he was in love; perhaps he had been in love with Rachel she really shouldn't

wonder; or perhaps it was Evelynshe was of course very attractive to men. Leaning forward, she went on

with the conversation. She said that she thought that the reason why parties were so dull was mainly because

gentlemen will not dress: even in London, she stated, it struck her very much how people don't think it

necessary to dress in the evening, and of course if they don't dress in London they won't dress in the country.

It was really quite a treat at Christmastime when there were the Hunt balls, and the gentlemen wore nice red

coats, but Arthur didn't care for dancing, so she supposed that they wouldn't go even to the ball in their little

country town. She didn't think that people who were fond of one sport often care for another, although her

father was an exception. But then he was an exception in every waysuch a gardener, and he knew all about

birds and animals, and of course he was simply adored by all the old women in the village, and at the same

time what he really liked best was a book. You always knew where to find him if he were wanted; he would

be in his study with a book. Very likely it would be an old, old book, some fusty old thing that no one else

would dream of reading. She used to tell him that he would have made a firstrate old bookworm if only he

hadn't had a family of six to support, and six children, she added, charmingly confident of universal

Still talking about her father, of whom she was very proud, she rose, for Arthur upon looking at his watch

found that it was time they went back again to the tennis court. The others did not move.

"They're very happy!" said Mrs. Thornbury, looking benignantly after them. Rachel agreed; they seemed to

"D'you think they _are_ happy?" Evelyn murmured to Terence in an undertone, and she hoped that he would

say that he did not think them happy; but, instead, he said that they must go toogo home, for they were

always being late for meals, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was very stern and particular, didn't like that. Evelyn

laid hold of Rachel's skirt and protested. Why should they go? It was still early, and she had so many things

to say to them. "No," said Terence, "we must go, because we walk so slowly. We stop and look at things, and

"What d'you talk about?" Evelyn enquired, upon which he laughed and said that they talked about everything.

Mrs. Thornbury went with them to the gate, trailing very slowly and gracefully across the grass and the

gravel, and talking all the time about flowers and birds. She told them that she had taken up the study of

botany since her daughter married, and it was wonderful what a number of flowers there were which she had

never seen, although she had lived in the country all her life and she was now seventytwo. It was a good

thing to have some occupation which was quite independent of other people, she said, when one got old. But

the odd thing was that one never felt old. She always felt that she was twentyfive, not a day more or a day

"It must be very wonderful to be twentyfive, and not merely to imagine that you're twentyfive," she said,

looking from one to the other with her smooth, bright glance. "It must be very wonderful, very wonderful

indeed." She stood talking to them at the gate for a long time; she seemed reluctant that they should go.

The afternoon was very hot, so hot that the breaking of the waves on the shore sounded like the repeated sigh

of some exhausted creature, and even on the terrace under an awning the bricks were hot, and the air danced

perpetually over the short dry grass. The red flowers in the stone basins were drooping with the heat, and the

white blossoms which had been so smooth and thick only a few weeks ago were now dry, and their edges

were curled and yellow. Only the stiff and hostile plants of the south, whose fleshy leaves seemed to be

grown upon spines, still remained standing upright and defied the sun to beat them down. It was too hot to

talk, and it was not easy to find any book that would withstand the power of the sun. Many books had been

tried and then let fall, and now Terence was reading Milton aloud, because he said the words of Milton had

substance and shape, so that it was not necessary to understand what he was saying; one could merely listen

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream. Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; Whilom she was

The words, in spite of what Terence had said, seemed to be laden with meaning, and perhaps it was for this

reason that it was painful to listen to them; they sounded strange; they meant different things from what they

usually meant. Rachel at any rate could not keep her attention fixed upon them, but went off upon curious

trains of thought suggested by words such as "curb" and "Locrine" and "Brute," which brought unpleasant

sights before her eyes, independently of their meaning. Owing to the heat and the dancing air the garden too

looked strangethe trees were either too near or too far, and her head almost certainly ached. She was not

quite certain, and therefore she did not know, whether to tell Terence now, or to let him go on reading. She

decided that she would wait until he came to the end of a stanza, and if by that time she had turned her head

this way and that, and it ached in every position undoubtedly, she would say very calmly that her head ached.

Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies

knitting The loose train of thy amber dropping hair, Listen for dear honour's sake, Goddess of the silver lake,

She sat up and said as she had determined, "My head aches so that I shall go indoors." He was halfway

For a few moments they sat looking at one another in silence, holding each other's hands. During this time his

sense of dismay and catastrophe were almost physically painful; all round him he seemed to hear the shiver

of broken glass which, as it fell to earth, left him sitting in the open air. But at the end of two minutes,

noticing that she was not sharing his dismay, but was only rather more languid and heavyeyed than usual, he

recovered, fetched Helen, and asked her to tell him what they had better do, for Rachel had a headache.

Mrs. Ambrose was not discomposed, but advised that she should go to bed, and added that she must expect

her head to ache if she sat up to all hours and went out in the heat, but a few hours in bed would cure it

completely. Terence was unreasonably reassured by her words, as he had been unreasonably depressed the

moment before. Helen's sense seemed to have much in common with the ruthless good sense of nature, which

avenged rashness by a headache, and, like nature's good sense, might be depended upon.

Rachel went to bed; she lay in the dark, it seemed to her, for a very long time, but at length, waking from a

transparent kind of sleep, she saw the windows white in front of her, and recollected that some time before

she had gone to bed with a headache, and that Helen had said it would be gone when she woke. She

supposed, therefore, that she was now quite well again. At the same time the wall of her room was painfully

white, and curved slightly, instead of being straight and flat. Turning her eyes to the window, she was not

reassured by what she saw there. The movement of the blind as it filled with air and blew slowly out, drawing

the cord with a little trailing sound along the floor, seemed to her terrifying, as if it were the movement of an

animal in the room. She shut her eyes, and the pulse in her head beat so strongly that each thump seemed to

tread upon a nerve, piercing her forehead with a little stab of pain. It might not be the same headache, but she

certainly had a headache. She turned from side to side, in the hope that the coolness of the sheets would cure

her, and that when she next opened her eyes to look the room would be as usual. After a considerable number

of vain experiments, she resolved to put the matter beyond a doubt. She got out of bed and stood upright,

holding on to the brass ball at the end of the bedstead. Icecold at first, it soon became as hot as the palm of

her hand, and as the pains in her head and body and the instability of the floor proved that it would be far

more intolerable to stand and walk than to lie in bed, she got into bed again; but though the change was

refreshing at first, the discomfort of bed was soon as great as the discomfort of standing up. She accepted the

idea that she would have to stay in bed all day long, and as she laid her head on the pillow, relinquished the

When Helen came in an hour or two later, suddenly stopped her cheerful words, looked startled for a second

and then unnaturally calm, the fact that she was ill was put beyond a doubt. It was confirmed when the whole

household knew of it, when the song that some one was singing in the garden stopped suddenly, and when

Maria, as she brought water, slipped past the bed with averted eyes. There was all the morning to get through,

and then all the afternoon, and at intervals she made an effort to cross over into the ordinary world, but she

found that her heat and discomfort had put a gulf between her world and the ordinary world which she could

not bridge. At one point the door opened, and Helen came in with a little dark man who hadit was the chief

thing she noticed about him very hairy hands. She was drowsy and intolerably hot, and as he seemed shy

and obsequious she scarcely troubled to answer him, although she understood that he was a doctor. At

another point the door opened and Terence came in very gently, smiling too steadily, as she realised, for it to

be natural. He sat down and talked to her, stroking her hands until it became irksome to her to lie any more in

the same position and she turned round, and when she looked up again Helen was beside her and Terence had

gone. It did not matter; she would see him tomorrow when things would be ordinary again. Her chief

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber

and the effort worried her because the adjectives persisted in getting into the wrong places.

The second day did not differ very much from the first day, except that her bed had become very important,

and the world outside, when she tried to think of it, appeared distinctly further off. The glassy, cool,

translucent wave was almost visible before her, curling up at the end of the bed, and as it was refreshingly

cool she tried to keep her mind fixed upon it. Helen was here, and Helen was there all day long; sometimes

she said that it was lunchtime, and sometimes that it was teatime; but by the next day all landmarks were

obliterated, and the outer world was so far away that the different sounds, such as the sounds of people

moving overhead, could only be ascribed to their cause by a great effort of memory. The recollection of what

she had felt, or of what she had been doing and thinking three days before, had faded entirely. On the other

hand, every object in the room, and the bed itself, and her own body with its various limbs and their different

sensations were more and more important each day. She was completely cut off, and unable to communicate

Hours and hours would pass thus, without getting any further through the morning, or again a few minutes

would lead from broad daylight to the depths of the night. One evening when the room appeared very dim,

either because it was evening or because the blinds were drawn, Helen said to her, "Some one is going to sit

Opening her eyes, Rachel saw not only Helen but a nurse in spectacles, whose face vaguely recalled

something that she had once seen. She had seen her in the chapel. "Nurse McInnis," said Helen, and the nurse

smiled steadily as they all did, and said that she did not find many people who were frightened of her. After

waiting for a moment they both disappeared, and having turned on her pillow Rachel woke to find herself in

the midst of one of those interminable nights which do not end at twelve, but go on into the double figures

thirteen, fourteen, and so on until they reach the twenties, and then the thirties, and then the forties. She

realised that there is nothing to prevent nights from doing this if they choose. At a great distance an elderly

woman sat with her head bent down; Rachel raised herself slightly and saw with dismay that she was playing

cards by the light of a candle which stood in the hollow of a newspaper. The sight had something

inexplicably sinister about it, and she was terrified and cried out, upon which the woman laid down her cards

and came across the room, shading the candle with her hands. Coming nearer and nearer across the great

space of the room, she stood at last above Rachel's head and said, "Not asleep? Let me make you

She put down the candle and began to arrange the bedclothes. It struck Rachel that a woman who sat playing

cards in a cavern all night long would have very cold hands, and she shrunk from the touch of them.

"Why, there's a toe all the way down there!" the woman said, proceeding to tuck in the bedclothes. Rachel did

"You must try and lie still," she proceeded, "because if you lie still you will be less hot, and if you toss about

you will make yourself more hot, and we don't want you to be any hotter than you are." She stood looking

Rachel kept her eyes fixed upon the peaked shadow on the ceiling, and all her energy was concentrated upon

the desire that this shadow should move. But the shadow and the woman seemed to be eternally fixed above

her. She shut her eyes. When she opened them again several more hours had passed, but the night still lasted

interminably. The woman was still playing cards, only she sat now in a tunnel under a river, and the light

stood in a little archway in the wall above her. She cried "Terence!" and the peaked shadow again moved

across the ceiling, as the woman with an enormous slow movement rose, and they both stood still above her.

"It's just as difficult to keep you in bed as it was to keep Mr. Forrest in bed," the woman said, "and he was

In order to get rid of this terrible stationary sight Rachel again shut her eyes, and found herself walking

through a tunnel under the Thames, where there were little deformed women sitting in archways playing

cards, while the bricks of which the wall was made oozed with damp, which collected into drops and slid

down the wall. But the little old women became Helen and Nurse McInnis after a time, standing in the

Meanwhile outside her room the sounds, the movements, and the lives of the other people in the house went

on in the ordinary light of the sun, throughout the usual succession of hours. When, on the first day of her

illness, it became clear that she would not be absolutely well, for her temperature was very high, until Friday,

that day being Tuesday, Terence was filled with resentment, not against her, but against the force outside

them which was separating them. He counted up the number of days that would almost certainly be spoilt for

them. He realised, with an odd mixture of pleasure and annoyance, that, for the first time in his life, he was so

dependent upon another person that his happiness was in her keeping. The days were completely wasted upon

trifling, immaterial things, for after three weeks of such intimacy and intensity all the usual occupations were

unbearably flat and beside the point. The least intolerable occupation was to talk to St. John about Rachel's

illness, and to discuss every symptom and its meaning, and, when this subject was exhausted, to discuss

Twice every day he went in to sit with Rachel, and twice every day the same thing happened. On going into

her room, which was not very dark, where the music was lying about as usual, and her books and letters, his

spirits rose instantly. When he saw her he felt completely reassured. She did not look very ill. Sitting by her

side he would tell her what he had been doing, using his natural voice to speak to her, only a few tones lower

down than usual; but by the time he had sat there for five minutes he was plunged into the deepest gloom.

She was not the same; he could not bring them back to their old relationship; but although he knew that it was

foolish he could not prevent himself from endeavouring to bring her back, to make her remember, and when

this failed he was in despair. He always concluded as he left her room that it was worse to see her than not to

see her, but by degrees, as the day wore on, the desire to see her returned and became almost too great to be

On Thursday morning when Terence went into her room he felt the usual increase of confidence. She turned

round and made an effort to remember certain facts from the world that was so many millions of miles away.

"No; I'm staying here for the present," he said. "We've just had luncheon," he continued, "and the mail has

Instead of saying, as he meant her to say, that she wished to see them, she said nothing for some time.

"The old woman with the knife," she replied, not speaking to Terence in particular, and looking past him. As

she appeared to be looking at a vase on the shelf opposite, he rose and took it down.

"Now they can't roll any more," he said cheerfully. Nevertheless she lay gazing at the same spot, and paid

him no further attention although he spoke to her. He became so profoundly wretched that he could not

endure to sit with her, but wandered about until he found St. John, who was reading _The_ _Times_ in the

verandah. He laid it aside patiently, and heard all that Terence had to say about delirium. He was very patient

By Friday it could not be denied that the illness was no longer an attack that would pass off in a day or two; it

was a real illness that required a good deal of organisation, and engrossed the attention of at least five people,

but there was no reason to be anxious. Instead of lasting five days it was going to last ten days. Rodriguez

was understood to say that there were wellknown varieties of this illness. Rodriguez appeared to think that

they were treating the illness with undue anxiety. His visits were always marked by the same show of

confidence, and in his interviews with Terence he always waved aside his anxious and minute questions with

a kind of flourish which seemed to indicate that they were all taking it much too seriously. He seemed

"A high temperature," he said, looking furtively about the room, and appearing to be more interested in the

furniture and in Helen's embroidery than in anything else. "In this climate you must expect a high

temperature. You need not be alarmed by that. It is the pulse we go by" (he tapped his own hairy wrist), "and

Thereupon he bowed and slipped out. The interview was conducted laboriously upon both sides in French,

and this, together with the fact that he was optimistic, and that Terence respected the medical profession from

hearsay, made him less critical than he would have been had he encountered the doctor in any other capacity.

Unconsciously he took Rodriguez' side against Helen, who seemed to have taken an unreasonable prejudice

When Saturday came it was evident that the hours of the day must be more strictly organised than they had

been. St. John offered his services; he said that he had nothing to do, and that he might as well spend the day

at the villa if he could be of use. As if they were starting on a difficult expedition together, they parcelled out

their duties between them, writing out an elaborate scheme of hours upon a large sheet of paper which was

pinned to the drawingroom door. Their distance from the town, and the difficulty of procuring rare things

with unknown names from the most unexpected places, made it necessary to think very carefully, and they

found it unexpectedly difficult to do the simple but practical things that were required of them, as if they,

being very tall, were asked to stoop down and arrange minute grains of sand in a pattern on the ground.

It was St. John's duty to fetch what was needed from the town, so that Terence would sit all through the long

hot hours alone in the drawingroom, near the open door, listening for any movement upstairs, or call from

Helen. He always forgot to pull down the blinds, so that he sat in bright sunshine, which worried him without

his knowing what was the cause of it. The room was terribly stiff and uncomfortable. There were hats in the

chairs, and medicine bottles among the books. He tried to read, but good books were too good, and bad books

were too bad, and the only thing he could tolerate was the newspaper, which with its news of London, and the

movements of real people who were giving dinnerparties and making speeches, seemed to give a little

background of reality to what was otherwise mere nightmare. Then, just as his attention was fixed on the

print, a soft call would come from Helen, or Mrs. Chailey would bring in something which was wanted

upstairs, and he would run up very quietly in his socks, and put the jug on the little table which stood

crowded with jugs and cups outside the bedroom door; or if he could catch Helen for a moment he would ask,

As usual she seemed to reserve something which she did not say, and Terence was conscious that they

disagreed, and, without saying it aloud, were arguing against each other. But she was too hurried and

The strain of listening and the effort of making practical arrangements and seeing that things worked

smoothly, absorbed all Terence's power. Involved in this long dreary nightmare, he did not attempt to think

what it amounted to. Rachel was ill; that was all; he must see that there was medicine and milk, and that

things were ready when they were wanted. Thought had ceased; life itself had come to a standstill. Sunday

was rather worse than Saturday had been, simply because the strain was a little greater every day, although

nothing else had changed. The separate feelings of pleasure, interest, and pain, which combine to make up the

ordinary day, were merged in one longdrawn sensation of sordid misery and profound boredom. He had

never been so bored since he was shut up in the nursery alone as a child. The vision of Rachel as she was

now, confused and heedless, had almost obliterated the vision of her as she had been once long ago; he could

hardly believe that they had ever been happy, or engaged to be married, for what were feelings, what was

there to be felt? Confusion covered every sight and person, and he seemed to see St. John, Ridley, and the

stray people who came up now and then from the hotel to enquire, through a mist; the only people who were

not hidden in this mist were Helen and Rodriguez, because they could tell him something definite about

Nevertheless the day followed the usual forms. At certain hours they went into the diningroom, and when

they sat round the table they talked about indifferent things. St. John usually made it his business to start the

"I've discovered the way to get Sancho past the white house," said St. John on Sunday at luncheon. "You

crackle a piece of paper in his ear, then he bolts for about a hundred yards, but he goes on quite well after

"I don't think much of the stuff they give him; and Angelo seems a dirty little rascal."

There was then a long silence. Ridley murmured a few lines of poetry under his breath, and remarked, as if to

"Two degrees higher than it was yesterday," said St. John. "I wonder where these nuts come from," he

observed, taking a nut out of the plate, turning it over in his fingers, and looking at it curiously.

"A competent man of business could make a fortune here in no time," St. John continued. "I suppose the heat

does something funny to people's brains. Even the English go a little queer. Anyhow they're hopeless people

to deal with. They kept me threequarters of an hour waiting at the chemist's this morning, for no reason

There was another long pause. Then Ridley enquired, "Rodriguez seems satisfied?"

"Quite," said Terence with decision. "It's just got to run its course." Whereupon Ridley heaved a deep sigh.

He was genuinely sorry for every one, but at the same time he missed Helen considerably, and was a little

"Look here, Hirst," said Terence, "there's nothing to be done for two hours." He consulted the sheet pinned to

the door. "You go and lie down. I'll wait here. Chailey sits with Rachel while Helen has her luncheon."

It was asking a good deal of Hirst to tell him to go without waiting for a sight of Helen. These little glimpses

of Helen were the only respites from strain and boredom, and very often they seemed to make up for the

discomfort of the day, although she might not have anything to tell them. However, as they were on an

Helen was very late in coming down. She looked like a person who has been sitting for a long time in the

dark. She was pale and thinner, and the expression of her eyes was harassed but determined. She ate her

luncheon quickly, and seemed indifferent to what she was doing. She brushed aside Terence's enquiries, and

at last, as if he had not spoken, she looked at him with a slight frown and said:

"We can't go on like this, Terence. Either you've got to find another doctor, or you must tell Rodriguez to stop

coming, and I'll manage for myself. It's no use for him to say that Rachel's better; she's not better; she's

Terence suffered a terrific shock, like that which he had suffered when Rachel said, "My head aches." He

stilled it by reflecting that Helen was overwrought, and he was upheld in this opinion by his obstinate sense

"No one can go on being as ill as that day after day" Helen replied. She looked at him, and spoke as if she

Nothing now could assuage Terence's anxiety. He could not read, nor could he sit still, and his sense of

security was shaken, in spite of the fact that he was determined that Helen was exaggerating, and that Rachel

Directly Rodriguez came down he demanded, "Well, how is she? Do you think her worse?"

"There is no reason for anxiety, I tell younone," Rodriguez replied in his execrable French, smiling

Hewet stood firmly between him and the door. He was determined to see for himself what kind of man he

was. His confidence in the man vanished as he looked at him and saw his insignificance, his dirty appearance,

his shiftiness, and his unintelligent, hairy face. It was strange that he had never seen this before.

"You won't object, of course, if we ask you to consult another doctor?" he continued.

"Ah!" he cried. "You have not confidence in me? You object to my treatment? You wish me to give up the

"It is not serious, I assure you. You are overanxious. The young lady is not seriously ill, and I am a doctor.

"There is no other doctor," Rodriguez replied sullenly. "Every one has confidence in me. Look! I will show

He took out a packet of old letters and began turning them over as if in search of one that would confute

Terence's suspicions. As he searched, he began to tell a story about an English lord who had trusted hima

"There is no other doctor in the place," he concluded, still turning over the letters.

"Never mind," said Terence shortly. "I will make enquiries for myself." Rodriguez put the letters back in his

He lifted his eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, as if to repeat that they took the illness much too seriously

and that there was no other doctor, and slipped out, leaving behind him an impression that he was conscious

After this Terence could no longer stay downstairs. He went up, knocked at Rachel's door, and asked Helen

whether he might see her for a few minutes. He had not seen her yesterday. She made no objection, and went

Terence sat down by the bedside. Rachel's face was changed. She looked as though she were entirely

concentrated upon the effort of keeping alive. Her lips were drawn, and her cheeks were sunken and flushed,

though without colour. Her eyes were not entirely shut, the lower half of the white part showing, not as if she

saw, but as if they remained open because she was too much exhausted to close them. She opened them

completely when he kissed her. But she only saw an old woman slicing a man's head off with a knife.

"There it falls!" she murmured. She then turned to Terence and asked him anxiously some question about a

man with mules, which he could not understand. "Why doesn't he come? Why doesn't he come?" she

repeated. He was appalled to think of the dirty little man downstairs in connection with illness like this, and

turning instinctively to Helen, but she was doing something at a table in the window, and did not seem to

realise how great the shock to him must be. He rose to go, for he could not endure to listen any longer; his

heart beat quickly and painfully with anger and misery. As he passed Helen she asked him in the same weary,

unnatural, but determined voice to fetch her more ice, and to have the jug outside filled with fresh milk.

When he had done these errands he went to find Hirst. Exhausted and very hot, St. John had fallen asleep on

"Helen thinks she's worse," he said. "There's no doubt she's frightfully ill. Rodriguez is useless. We must get

"But there is no other doctor," said Hirst drowsily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Don't be a damned fool!" Terence exclaimed. "Of course there's another doctor, and, if there isn't, you've got

to find one. It ought to have been done days ago. I'm going down to saddle the horse." He could not stay still

In less than ten minutes St. John was riding to the town in the scorching heat in search of a doctor, his orders

being to find one and bring him back if he had to be fetched in a special train.

When he went back into the drawingroom he found that Mrs. Flushing was there, standing very erect in the

middle of the room, having arrived, as people did in these days, by the kitchen or through the garden

"She's better?" Mrs. Flushing enquired abruptly; they did not attempt to shake hands.

Mrs. Flushing seemed to consider for a moment or two, looking straight at Terence all the time.

"Let me tell you," she said, speaking in nervous jerks, "it's always about the seventh day one begins to get

anxious. I daresay you've been sittin' here worryin' by yourself. You think she's bad, but any one comin' with

a fresh eye would see she was better. Mr. Elliot's had fever; he's all right now," she threw out. "It wasn't

anythin' she caught on the expedition. What's it matter a few days' fever? My brother had fever for

twentysix days once. And in a week or two he was up and about. We gave him nothin' but milk and

"You seeshe'll be better," Mrs. Flushing jerked out as he left the room. Her anxiety to persuade Terence

was very great, and when he left her without saying anything she felt dissatisfied and restless; she did not like

to stay, but she could not bear to go. She wandered from room to room looking for some one to talk to, but all

Terence went upstairs, stood inside the door to take Helen's directions, looked over at Rachel, but did not

attempt to speak to her. She appeared vaguely conscious of his presence, but it seemed to disturb her, and she

For six days indeed she had been oblivious of the world outside, because it needed all her attention to follow

the hot, red, quick sights which passed incessantly before her eyes. She knew that it was of enormous

importance that she should attend to these sights and grasp their meaning, but she was always being just too

late to hear or see something which would explain it all. For this reason, the faces,Helen's face, the nurse's,

Terence's, the doctor's,which occasionally forced themselves very close to her, were worrying because

they distracted her attention and she might miss the clue. However, on the fourth afternoon she was suddenly

unable to keep Helen's face distinct from the sights themselves; her lips widened as she bent down over the

bed, and she began to gabble unintelligibly like the rest. The sights were all concerned in some plot, some

adventure, some escape. The nature of what they were doing changed incessantly, although there was always

a reason behind it, which she must endeavour to grasp. Now they were among trees and savages, now they

were on the sea, now they were on the tops of high towers; now they jumped; now they flew. But just as the

crisis was about to happen, something invariably slipped in her brain, so that the whole effort had to begin

over again. The heat was suffocating. At last the faces went further away; she fell into a deep pool of sticky

water, which eventually closed over her head. She saw nothing and heard nothing but a faint booming sound,

which was the sound of the sea rolling over her head. While all her tormentors thought that she was dead, she

was not dead, but curled up at the bottom of the sea. There she lay, sometimes seeing darkness, sometimes

light, while every now and then some one turned her over at the bottom of the sea.

After St. John had spent some hours in the heat of the sun wrangling with evasive and very garrulous natives,

he extracted the information that there was a doctor, a French doctor, who was at present away on a holiday

in the hills. It was quite impossible, so they said, to find him. With his experience of the country, St. John

thought it unlikely that a telegram would either be sent or received; but having reduced the distance of the hill

town, in which he was staying, from a hundred miles to thirty miles, and having hired a carriage and horses,

he started at once to fetch the doctor himself. He succeeded in finding him, and eventually forced the

unwilling man to leave his young wife and return forthwith. They reached the villa at midday on Tuesday.

Terence came out to receive them, and St. John was struck by the fact that he had grown perceptibly thinner

in the interval; he was white too; his eyes looked strange. But the curt speech and the sulky masterful manner

of Dr. Lesage impressed them both favourably, although at the same time it was obvious that he was very

much annoyed at the whole affair. Coming downstairs he gave his directions emphatically, but it never

occurred to him to give an opinion either because of the presence of Rodriguez who was now obsequious as

well as malicious, or because he took it for granted that they knew already what was to be known.

"Of course," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, when Terence asked him, "Is she very ill?"

They were both conscious of a certain sense of relief when Dr. Lesage was gone, leaving explicit directions,

and promising another visit in a few hours' time; but, unfortunately, the rise of their spirits led them to talk

more than usual, and in talking they quarrelled. They quarrelled about a road, the Portsmouth Road. St. John

said that it is macadamised where it passes Hindhead, and Terence knew as well as he knew his own name

that it is not macadamised at that point. In the course of the argument they said some very sharp things to

each other, and the rest of the dinner was eaten in silence, save for an occasional halfstifled reflection from

When it grew dark and the lamps were brought in, Terence felt unable to control his irritation any longer. St.

John went to bed in a state of complete exhaustion, bidding Terence goodnight with rather more affection

than usual because of their quarrel, and Ridley retired to his books. Left alone, Terence walked up and down

The lights were coming out one after another in the town beneath, and it was very peaceful and cool in the

garden, so that he stepped out on to the terrace. As he stood there in the darkness, able only to see the shapes

of trees through the fine grey light, he was overcome by a desire to escape, to have done with this suffering,

to forget that Rachel was ill. He allowed himself to lapse into forgetfulness of everything. As if a wind that

had been raging incessantly suddenly fell asleep, the fret and strain and anxiety which had been pressing on

him passed away. He seemed to stand in an unvexed space of air, on a little island by himself; he was free

and immune from pain. It did not matter whether Rachel was well or ill; it did not matter whether they were

apart or together; nothing matterednothing mattered. The waves beat on the shore far away, and the soft

wind passed through the branches of the trees, seeming to encircle him with peace and security, with dark and

nothingness. Surely the world of strife and fret and anxiety was not the real world, but this was the real world,

the world that lay beneath the superficial world, so that, whatever happened, one was secure. The quiet and

peace seemed to lap his body in a fine cool sheet, soothing every nerve; his mind seemed once more to

But when he had stood thus for a time a noise in the house roused him; he turned instinctively and went into

the drawingroom. The sight of the lamplit room brought back so abruptly all that he had forgotten that he

stood for a moment unable to move. He remembered everything, the hour, the minute even, what point they

had reached, and what was to come. He cursed himself for making believe for a minute that things were

Unable to stay in the empty drawingroom, he wandered out and sat on the stairs halfway up to Rachel's

room. He longed for some one to talk to, but Hirst was asleep, and Ridley was asleep; there was no sound in

Rachel's room. The only sound in the house was the sound of Chailey moving in the kitchen. At last there

was a rustling on the stairs overhead, and Nurse McInnis came down fastening the links in her cuffs, in

preparation for the night's watch. Terence rose and stopped her. He had scarcely spoken to her, but it was

possible that she might confirm him in the belief which still persisted in his own mind that Rachel was not

seriously ill. He told her in a whisper that Dr. Lesage had been and what he had said.

"Now, Nurse," he whispered, "please tell me your opinion. Do you consider that she is very seriously ill? Is

"Yes, but I want your opinion. You have had experience of many cases like this?"

"I could not tell you more than Dr. Lesage, Mr. Hewet," she replied cautiously, as though her words might be

used against her. "The case is serious, but you may feel quite certain that we are doing all we can for Miss

Vinrace." She spoke with some professional selfapprobation. But she realised perhaps that she did not

satisfy the young man, who still blocked her way, for she shifted her feet slightly upon the stair and looked

"If you ask me," she began in a curiously stealthy tone, "I never like May for my patients."

"It may be a fancy, but I don't like to see anybody fall ill in May," she continued. "Things seem to go wrong

in May. Perhaps it's the moon. They say the moon affects the brain, don't they, Sir?"

He looked at her but he could not answer her; like all the others, when one looked at her she seemed to

Though he went to his room he was unable even to take his clothes off. For a long time he paced up and

down, and then leaning out of the window gazed at the earth which lay so dark against the paler blue of the

sky. With a mixture of fear and loathing he looked at the slim black cypress trees which were still visible in

the garden, and heard the unfamiliar creaking and grating sounds which show that the earth is still hot. All

these sights and sounds appeared sinister and full of hostility and foreboding; together with the natives and

the nurse and the doctor and the terrible force of the illness itself they seemed to be in conspiracy against him.

They seemed to join together in their effort to extract the greatest possible amount of suffering from him. He

could not get used to his pain, it was a revelation to him. He had never realised before that underneath every

action, underneath the life of every day, pain lies, quiescent, but ready to devour; he seemed to be able to see

suffering, as if it were a fire, curling up over the edges of all action, eating away the lives of men and women.

He thought for the first time with understanding of words which had before seemed to him empty: the

struggle of life; the hardness of life. Now he knew for himself that life is hard and full of suffering. He looked

at the scattered lights in the town beneath, and thought of Arthur and Susan, or Evelyn and Perrott venturing

out unwittingly, and by their happiness laying themselves open to suffering such as this. How did they dare to

love each other, he wondered; how had he himself dared to live as he had lived, rapidly and carelessly,

passing from one thing to another, loving Rachel as he had loved her? Never again would he feel secure; he

would never believe in the stability of life, or forget what depths of pain lie beneath small happiness and

feelings of content and safety. It seemed to him as he looked back that their happiness had never been so

great as his pain was now. There had always been something imperfect in their happiness, something they

had wanted and had not been able to get. It had been fragmentary and incomplete, because they were so

The light of his candle flickered over the boughs of a tree outside the window, and as the branch swayed in

the darkness there came before his mind a picture of all the world that lay outside his window; he thought of

the immense river and the immense forest, the vast stretches of dry earth and the plains of the sea that

encircled the earth; from the sea the sky rose steep and enormous, and the air washed profoundly between the

sky and the sea. How vast and dark it must be tonight, lying exposed to the wind; and in all this great space it

was curious to think how few the towns were, and how small little rings of light, or single glowworms he

figured them, scattered here and there, among the swelling uncultivated folds of the world. And in those

towns were little men and women, tiny men and women. Oh, it was absurd, when one thought of it, to sit here

in a little room suffering and caring. What did anything matter? Rachel, a tiny creature, lay ill beneath him,

and here in his little room he suffered on her account. The nearness of their bodies in this vast universe, and

the minuteness of their bodies, seemed to him absurd and laughable. Nothing mattered, he repeated; they had

no power, no hope. He leant on the windowsill, thinking, until he almost forgot the time and the place.

Nevertheless, although he was convinced that it was absurd and laughable, and that they were small and

hopeless, he never lost the sense that these thoughts somehow formed part of a life which he and Rachel

Owing perhaps to the change of doctor, Rachel appeared to be rather better next day. Terribly pale and worn

though Helen looked, there was a slight lifting of the cloud which had hung all these days in her eyes.

"She talked to me," she said voluntarily. "She asked me what day of the week it was, like herself."

Then suddenly, without any warning or any apparent reason, the tears formed in her eyes and rolled steadily

down her cheeks. She cried with scarcely any attempt at movement of her features, and without any attempt

to stop herself, as if she did not know that she was crying. In spite of the relief which her words gave him,

Terence was dismayed by the sight; had everything given way? Were there no limits to the power of this

illness? Would everything go down before it? Helen had always seemed to him strong and determined, and

now she was like a child. He took her in his arms, and she clung to him like a child, crying softly and quietly

upon his shoulder. Then she roused herself and wiped her tears away; it was silly to behave like that, she said;

very silly, she repeated, when there could be no doubt that Rachel was better. She asked Terence to forgive

her for her folly. She stopped at the door and came back and kissed him without saying anything.

On this day indeed Rachel was conscious of what went on round her. She had come to the surface of the dark,

sticky pool, and a wave seemed to bear her up and down with it; she had ceased to have any will of her own;

she lay on the top of the wave conscious of some pain, but chiefly of weakness. The wave was replaced by

the side of a mountain. Her body became a drift of melting snow, above which her knees rose in huge peaked

mountains of bare bone. It was true that she saw Helen and saw her room, but everything had become very

pale and semitransparent. Sometimes she could see through the wall in front of her. Sometimes when Helen

went away she seemed to go so far that Rachel's eyes could hardly follow her. The room also had an odd

power of expanding, and though she pushed her voice out as far as possible until sometimes it became a bird

and flew away, she thought it doubtful whether it ever reached the person she was talking to. There were

immense intervals or chasms, for things still had the power to appear visibly before her, between one moment

and the next; it sometimes took an hour for Helen to raise her arm, pausing long between each jerky

movement, and pour out medicine. Helen's form stooping to raise her in bed appeared of gigantic size, and

came down upon her like the ceiling falling. But for long spaces of time she would merely lie conscious of

her body floating on the top of the bed and her mind driven to some remote corner of her body, or escaped

and gone flitting round the room. All sights were something of an effort, but the sight of Terence was the

greatest effort, because he forced her to join mind to body in the desire to remember something. She did not

wish to remember; it troubled her when people tried to disturb her loneliness; she wished to be alone. She

Although she had cried, Terence observed Helen's greater hopefulness with something like triumph; in the

argument between them she had made the first sign of admitting herself in the wrong. He waited for Dr.

Lesage to come down that afternoon with considerable anxiety, but with the same certainty at the back of his

As usual, Dr. Lesage was sulky in his manner and very short in his answers. To Terence's demand, "She

seems to be better?" he replied, looking at him in an odd way, "She has a chance of life."

The door shut and Terence walked across to the window. He leant his forehead against the pane.

How could they say these things of Rachel? Had any one yesterday seriously believed that Rachel was dying?

They had been engaged for four weeks. A fortnight ago she had been perfectly well. What could fourteen

days have done to bring her from that state to this? To realise what they meant by saying that she had a

chance of life was beyond him, knowing as he did that they were engaged. He turned, still enveloped in the

same dreary mist, and walked towards the door. Suddenly he saw it all. He saw the room and the garden, and

the trees moving in the air, they could go on without her; she could die. For the first time since she fell ill he

remembered exactly what she looked like and the way in which they cared for each other. The immense

happiness of feeling her close to him mingled with a more intense anxiety than he had felt yet. He could not

let her die; he could not live without her. But after a momentary struggle, the curtain fell again, and he saw

nothing and felt nothing clearly. It was all going ongoing on still, in the same way as before. Save for a

physical pain when his heart beat, and the fact that his fingers were icy cold, he did not realise that he was

anxious about anything. Within his mind he seemed to feel nothing about Rachel or about any one or

anything in the world. He went on giving orders, arranging with Mrs. Chailey, writing out lists, and every

now and then he went upstairs and put something quietly on the table outside Rachel's door. That night Dr.

Lesage seemed to be less sulky than usual. He stayed voluntarily for a few moments, and, addressing St. John

and Terence equally, as if he did not remember which of them was engaged to the young lady, said, "I

Neither of them went to bed or suggested that the other should go to bed. They sat in the drawingroom

playing picquet with the door open. St. John made up a bed upon the sofa, and when it was ready insisted that

Terence should lie upon it. They began to quarrel as to who should lie on the sofa and who should lie upon a

couple of chairs covered with rugs. St. John forced Terence at last to lie down upon the sofa.

"Old fellow," he began, as Terence still refused, and stopped abruptly, fearing sentimentality; he found that

He began to say what he had long been wanting to say, that he was sorry for Terence, that he cared for him,

that he cared for Rachel. Did she know how much he cared for herhad she said anything, asked perhaps?

He was very anxious to say this, but he refrained, thinking that it was a selfish question after all, and what

was the use of bothering Terence to talk about such things? He was already half asleep. But St. John could

not sleep at once. If only, he thought to himself, as he lay in the darkness, something would happenif only

this strain would come to an end. He did not mind what happened, so long as the succession of these hard and

dreary days was broken; he did not mind if she died. He felt himself disloyal in not minding it, but it seemed

All night long there was no call or movement, except the opening and shutting of the bedroom door once. By

degrees the light returned into the untidy room. At six the servants began to move; at seven they crept

Nevertheless it was not the same as the days that had gone before, although it would have been hard to say in

what the difference consisted. Perhaps it was that they seemed to be waiting for something. There were

certainly fewer things to be done than usual. People drifted through the drawingroomMr. Flushing, Mr.

and Mrs. Thornbury. They spoke very apologetically in low tones, refusing to sit down, but remaining for a

considerable time standing up, although the only thing they had to say was, "Is there anything we can do?"

Feeling oddly detached from it all, Terence remembered how Helen had said that whenever anything

happened to you this was how people behaved. Was she right, or was she wrong? He was too little interested

to frame an opinion of his own. He put things away in his mind, as if one of these days he would think about

them, but not now. The mist of unreality had deepened and deepened until it had produced a feeling of

This morning also for the first time Ridley found it impossible to sit alone in his room. He was very

uncomfortable downstairs, and, as he did not know what was going on, constantly in the way; but he would

not leave the drawingroom. Too restless to read, and having nothing to do, he began to pace up and down

reciting poetry in an undertone. Occupied in various waysnow in undoing parcels, now in uncorking

bottles, now in writing directions, the sound of Ridley's song and the beat of his pacing worked into the

They wrestled up, they wrestled down, They wrestled sore and still: The fiend who blinds the eyes of men,

"Oh, it's intolerable!" Hirst exclaimed, and then checked himself, as if it were a breach of their agreement.

Again and again Terence would creep halfway up the stairs in case he might be able to glean news of

Rachel. But the only news now was of a very fragmentary kind; she had drunk something; she had slept a

little; she seemed quieter. In the same way, Dr. Lesage confined himself to talking about details, save once

when he volunteered the information that he had just been called in to ascertain, by severing a vein in the

wrist, that an old lady of eightyfive was really dead. She had a horror of being buried alive.

"It is a horror," he remarked, "that we generally find in the very old, and seldom in the young." They both

expressed their interest in what he told them; it seemed to them very strange. Another strange thing about the

day was that the luncheon was forgotten by all of them until it was late in the afternoon, and then Mrs.

Chailey waited on them, and looked strange too, because she wore a stiff print dress, and her sleeves were

rolled up above her elbows. She seemed as oblivious of her appearance, however, as if she had been called

out of her bed by a midnight alarm of fire, and she had forgotten, too, her reserve and her composure; she

talked to them quite familiarly as if she had nursed them and held them naked on her knee. She assured them

The afternoon, being thus shortened, passed more quickly than they expected. Once Mrs. Flushing opened the

door, but on seeing them shut it again quickly; once Helen came down to fetch something, but she stopped as

she left the room to look at a letter addressed to her. She stood for a moment turning it over, and the

extraordinary and mournful beauty of her attitude struck Terence in the way things struck him nowas

something to be put away in his mind and to be thought about afterwards. They scarcely spoke, the argument

Now that the afternoon sun had left the front of the house, Ridley paced up and down the terrace repeating

stanzas of a long poem, in a subdued but suddenly sonorous voice. Fragments of the poem were wafted in at

Peor and Baalim Forsake their Temples dim, With that twice batter'd God of Palestine And mooned

The sound of these words were strangely discomforting to both the young men, but they had to be borne. As

the evening drew on and the red light of the sunset glittered far away on the sea, the same sense of

desperation attacked both Terence and St. John at the thought that the day was nearly over, and that another

night was at hand. The appearance of one light after another in the town beneath them produced in Hirst a

repetition of his terrible and disgusting desire to break down and sob. Then the lamps were brought in by

Chailey. She explained that Maria, in opening a bottle, had been so foolish as to cut her arm badly, but she

had bound it up; it was unfortunate when there was so much work to be done. Chailey herself limped because

of the rheumatism in her feet, but it appeared to her mere waste of time to take any notice of the unruly flesh

of servants. The evening went on. Dr. Lesage arrived unexpectedly, and stayed upstairs a very long time. He

"She is very ill," he said in answer to Ridley's question. All the annoyance had by this time left his manner,

he was grave and formal, but at the same time it was full of consideration, which had not marked it before.

He went upstairs again. The three men sat together in the drawingroom. Ridley was quite quiet now, and his

attention seemed to be thoroughly awakened. Save for little halfvoluntary movements and exclamations that

were stifled at once, they waited in complete silence. It seemed as if they were at last brought together face to

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Dr. Lesage again appeared in the room. He approached them very slowly,

and did not speak at once. He looked first at St. John and then at Terence, and said to Terence, "Mr. Hewet, I

Terence rose immediately, leaving the others seated with Dr. Lesage standing motionless between them.

Chailey was in the passage outside, repeating over and over again, "It's wickedit's wicked."

Terence paid her no attention; he heard what she was saying, but it conveyed no meaning to his mind. All the

way upstairs he kept saying to himself, "This has not happened to me. It is not possible that this has happened

He looked curiously at his own hand on the banisters. The stairs were very steep, and it seemed to take him a

long time to surmount them. Instead of feeling keenly, as he knew that he ought to feel, he felt nothing at all.

When he opened the door he saw Helen sitting by the bedside. There were shaded lights on the table, and the

room, though it seemed to be full of a great many things, was very tidy. There was a faint and not unpleasant

smell of disinfectants. Helen rose and gave up her chair to him in silence. As they passed each other their

eyes met in a peculiar level glance, he wondered at the extraordinary clearness of his eyes, and at the deep

calm and sadness that dwelt in them. He sat down by the bedside, and a moment afterwards heard the door

shut gently behind her. He was alone with Rachel, and a faint reflection of the sense of relief that they used to

feel when they were left alone possessed him. He looked at her. He expected to find some terrible change in

her, but there was none. She looked indeed very thin, and, as far as he could see, very tired, but she was the

same as she had always been. Moreover, she saw him and knew him. She smiled at him and said, "Hullo,

"Well, Rachel," he replied in his usual voice, upon which she opened her eyes quite widely and smiled with

She still looked at him and smiled, but soon a slight look of fatigue or perplexity came into her eyes and she

"But when we're together we're perfectly happy," he said. He continued to hold her hand.

The light being dim, it was impossible to see any change in her face. An immense feeling of peace came over

Terence, so that he had no wish to move or to speak. The terrible torture and unreality of the last days were

over, and he had come out now into perfect certainty and peace. His mind began to work naturally again and

with great ease. The longer he sat there the more profoundly was he conscious of the peace invading every

corner of his soul. Once he held his breath and listened acutely; she was still breathing; he went on thinking

for some time; they seemed to be thinking together; he seemed to be Rachel as well as himself; and then he

listened again; no, she had ceased to breathe. So much the betterthis was death. It was nothing; it was to

cease to breathe. It was happiness, it was perfect happiness. They had now what they had always wanted to

have, the union which had been impossible while they lived. Unconscious whether he thought the words or

spoke them aloud, he said, "No two people have ever been so happy as we have been. No one has ever loved

It seemed to him that their complete union and happiness filled the room with rings eddying more and more

widely. He had no wish in the world left unfulfilled. They possessed what could never be taken from them.

He was not conscious that any one had come into the room, but later, moments later, or hours later perhaps,

he felt an arm behind him. The arms were round him. He did not want to have arms round him, and the

mysterious whispering voices annoyed him. He laid Rachel's hand, which was now cold, upon the

counterpane, and rose from his chair, and walked across to the window. The windows were uncurtained, and

"Why," he said, in his ordinary tone of voice, "look at the moon. There's a halo round the moon. We shall

The arms, whether they were the arms of man or of woman, were round him again; they were pushing him

gently towards the door. He turned of his own accord and walked steadily in advance of the arms, conscious

of a little amusement at the strange way in which people behaved merely because some one was dead. He

would go if they wished it, but nothing they could do would disturb his happiness.

As he saw the passage outside the room, and the table with the cups and the plates, it suddenly came over him

"Rachel! Rachel!" he shrieked, trying to rush back to her. But they prevented him, and pushed him down the

passage and into a bedroom far from her room. Downstairs they could hear the thud of his feet on the floor, as

For two or three hours longer the moon poured its light through the empty air. Unbroken by clouds it fell

straightly, and lay almost like a chill white frost over the sea and the earth. During these hours the silence was

not broken, and the only movement was caused by the movement of trees and branches which stirred slightly,

and then the shadows that lay across the white spaces of the land moved too. In this profound silence one

sound only was audible, the sound of a slight but continuous breathing which never ceased, although it never

rose and never fell. It continued after the birds had begun to flutter from branch to branch, and could be heard

behind the first thin notes of their voices. It continued all through the hours when the east whitened, and grew

red, and a faint blue tinged the sky, but when the sun rose it ceased, and gave place to other sounds.

The first sounds that were heard were little inarticulate cries, the cries, it seemed, of children or of the very

poor, of people who were very weak or in pain. But when the sun was above the horizon, the air which had

been thin and pale grew every moment richer and warmer, and the sounds of life became bolder and more full

of courage and authority. By degrees the smoke began to ascend in wavering breaths over the houses, and

these slowly thickened, until they were as round and straight as columns, and instead of striking upon pale

white blinds, the sun shone upon dark windows, beyond which there was depth and space.

The sun had been up for many hours, and the great dome of air was warmed through and glittering with thin

gold threads of sunlight, before any one moved in the hotel. White and massive it stood in the early light, half

At about halfpast nine Miss Allan came very slowly into the hall, and walked very slowly to the table where

the morning papers were laid, but she did not put out her hand to take one; she stood still, thinking, with her

head a little sunk upon her shoulders. She looked curiously old, and from the way in which she stood, a little

hunched together and very massive, you could see what she would be like when she was really old, how she

would sit day after day in her chair looking placidly in front of her. Other people began to come into the

room, and to pass her, but she did not speak to any of them or even look at them, and at last, as if it were

necessary to do something, she sat down in a chair, and looked quietly and fixedly in front of her. She felt

very old this morning, and useless too, as if her life had been a failure, as if it had been hard and laborious to

no purpose. She did not want to go on living, and yet she knew that she would. She was so strong that she

would live to be a very old woman. She would probably live to be eighty, and as she was now fifty, that left

thirty years more for her to live. She turned her hands over and over in her lap and looked at them curiously;

her old hands, that had done so much work for her. There did not seem to be much point in it all; one went

on, of course one went on. . . . She looked up to see Mrs. Thornbury standing beside her, with lines drawn

Mrs. Thornbury made a little exclamation, drew her lips together, and the tears rose in her eyes. Through

them she looked at the hall which was now laid with great breadths of sunlight, and at the careless, casual

groups of people who were standing beside the solid armchairs and tables. They looked to her unreal, or as

people look who remain unconscious that some great explosion is about to take place beside them. But there

was no explosion, and they went on standing by the chairs and the tables. Mrs. Thornbury no longer saw

them, but, penetrating through them as though they were without substance, she saw the house, the people in

the house, the room, the bed in the room, and the figure of the dead lying still in the dark beneath the sheets.

She could almost see the dead. She could almost hear the voices of the mourners.

"I know nothing," she replied, "except what Mrs. Flushing's maid told me. She died early this morning."

The two women looked at each other with a quiet significant gaze, and then, feeling oddly dazed, and seeking

she did not know exactly what, Mrs. Thornbury went slowly upstairs and walked quietly along the passages,

touching the wall with her fingers as if to guide herself. Housemaids were passing briskly from room to

room, but Mrs. Thornbury avoided them; she hardly saw them; they seemed to her to be in another world.

She did not even look up directly when Evelyn stopped her. It was evident that Evelyn had been lately in

tears, and when she looked at Mrs. Thornbury she began to cry again. Together they drew into the hollow of a

window, and stood there in silence. Broken words formed themselves at last among Evelyn's sobs. "It was

"It seems hardvery hard," she said. She paused and looked out over the slope of the hill at the Ambroses'

villa; the windows were blazing in the sun, and she thought how the soul of the dead had passed from those

"And yet the older one grows," she continued, her eyes regaining more than their usual brightness, "the more

certain one becomes that there is a reason. How could one go on if there were no reason?" she asked.

She asked the question of some one, but she did not ask it of Evelyn. Evelyn's sobs were becoming quieter.

"There must be a reason," she said. "It can't only be an accident. For it was an accident it need never have

"But we must not let ourselves think of that," she added, "and let us hope that they don't either. Whatever

"There's no reasonI don't believe there's any reason at all!" Evelyn broke out, pulling the blind down and

"Why should these things happen? Why should people suffer? I honestly believe," she went on, lowering her

Mrs. Thornbury shook her head slightly but made no reply, and pressing Evelyn's hand she went on down the

passage. Impelled by a strong desire to hear something, although she did not know exactly what there was to

hear, she was making her way to the Flushings' room. As she opened their door she felt that she had

interrupted some argument between husband and wife. Mrs. Flushing was sitting with her back to the light,

and Mr. Flushing was standing near her, arguing and trying to persuade her of something.

"Ah, here is Mrs. Thornbury," he began with some relief in his voice. "You have heard, of course. My wife

feels that she was in some way responsible. She urged poor Miss Vinrace to come on the expedition. I'm sure

you will agree with me that it is most unreasonable to feel that. We don't even knowin fact I think it most

unlikelythat she caught her illness there. These diseasesBesides, she was set on going. She would have

"Don't, Wilfrid," said Mrs. Flushing, neither moving nor taking her eyes off the spot on the floor upon which

"I was coming to ask you," said Mrs. Thornbury, addressing Wilfrid, for it was useless to speak to his wife.

"Is there anything you think that one could do? Has the father arrived? Could one go and see?"

The strongest wish in her being at this moment was to be able to do something for the unhappy peopleto

see themto assure them to help them. It was dreadful to be so far away from them. But Mr. Flushing

shook his head; he did not think that now later perhaps one might be able to help. Here Mrs. Flushing rose

stiffly, turned her back to them, and walked to the dressingroom opposite. As she walked, they could see her

breast slowly rise and slowly fall. But her grief was silent. She shut the door behind her.

When she was alone by herself she clenched her fists together, and began beating the back of a chair with

them. She was like a wounded animal. She hated death; she was furious, outraged, indignant with death, as if

it were a living creature. She refused to relinquish her friends to death. She would not submit to dark and

nothingness. She began to pace up and down, clenching her hands, and making no attempt to stop the quick

tears which raced down her cheeks. She sat still at last, but she did not submit. She looked stubborn and

In the next room, meanwhile, Wilfrid was talking to Mrs. Thornbury with greater freedom now that his wife

"That's the worst of these places," he said. "People will behave as though they were in England, and they're

not. I've no doubt myself that Miss Vinrace caught the infection up at the villa itself. She probably ran risks a

dozen times a day that might have given her the illness. It's absurd to say she caught it with us."

If he had not been sincerely sorry for them he would have been annoyed. "Pepper tells me," he continued,

"that he left the house because he thought them so careless. He says they never washed their vegetables

properly. Poor people! It's a fearful price to pay. But it's only what I've seen over and over againpeople

seem to forget that these things happen, and then they do happen, and they're surprised.

Mrs. Thornbury agreed with him that they had been very careless, and that there was no reason whatever to

think that she had caught the fever on the expedition; and after talking about other things for a short time, she

left him and went sadly along the passage to her own room. There must be some reason why such things

happen, she thought to herself, as she shut the door. Only at first it was not easy to understand what it was. It

seemed so strange so unbelievable. Why, only three weeks agoonly a fortnight ago, she had seen

Rachel; when she shut her eyes she could almost see her now, the quiet, shy girl who was going to be

married. She thought of all that she would have missed had she died at Rachel's age, the children, the married

life, the unimaginable depths and miracles that seemed to her, as she looked back, to have lain about her, day

after day, and year after year. The stunned feeling, which had been making it difficult for her to think,

gradually gave way to a feeling of the opposite nature; she thought very quickly and very clearly, and,

looking back over all her experiences, tried to fit them into a kind of order. There was undoubtedly much

suffering, much struggling, but, on the whole, surely there was a balance of happinesssurely order did

prevail. Nor were the deaths of young people really the saddest things in life they were saved so much;

they kept so much. The deadshe called to mind those who had died early, accidentallywere beautiful;

she often dreamt of the dead. And in time Terence himself would come to feelShe got up and began to

For an old woman of her age she was very restless, and for one of her clear, quick mind she was unusually

perplexed. She could not settle to anything, so that she was relieved when the door opened. She went up to

her husband, took him in her arms, and kissed him with unusual intensity, and then as they sat down together

she began to pat him and question him as if he were a baby, an old, tired, querulous baby. She did not tell him

about Miss Vinrace's death, for that would only disturb him, and he was put out already. She tried to discover

why he was uneasy. Politics again? What were those horrid people doing? She spent the whole morning in

discussing politics with her husband, and by degrees she became deeply interested in what they were saying.

But every now and then what she was saying seemed to her oddly empty of meaning.

At luncheon it was remarked by several people that the visitors at the hotel were beginning to leave; there

were fewer every day. There were only forty people at luncheon, instead of the sixty that there had been. So

old Mrs. Paley computed, gazing about her with her faded eyes, as she took her seat at her own table in the

window. Her party generally consisted of Mr. Perrott as well as Arthur and Susan, and today Evelyn was

She was unusually subdued. Having noticed that her eyes were red, and guessing the reason, the others took

pains to keep up an elaborate conversation between themselves. She suffered it to go on for a few minutes,

leaning both elbows on the table, and leaving her soup untouched, when she exclaimed suddenly, "I don't

Susan replied, "Yesisn't it perfectly awful? When you think what a nice girl she wasonly just engaged,

and this need never have happenedit seems too tragic." She looked at Arthur as though he might be able to

"Hard lines," said Arthur briefly. "But it was a foolish thing to doto go up that river." He shook his head.

"They should have known better. You can't expect Englishwomen to stand roughing it as the natives do

who've been acclimatised. I'd half a mind to warn them at tea that day when it was being discussed. But it's

no good saying these sort of thingsit only puts people's backs up it never makes any difference."

Old Mrs. Paley, hitherto contented with her soup, here intimated, by raising one hand to her ear, that she

"You heard, Aunt Emma, that poor Miss Vinrace has died of the fever," Susan informed her gently. She

could not speak of death loudly or even in her usual voice, so that Mrs. Paley did not catch a word. Arthur

"Miss Vinrace is dead," he repeated. It was only by stiffening all the muscles round his mouth that he could

prevent himself from bursting into laughter, and forced himself to repeat for the third time, "Miss Vinrace. . .

Let alone the difficulty of hearing the exact words, facts that were outside her daily experience took some

time to reach Mrs. Paley's consciousness. A weight seemed to rest upon her brain, impeding, though not

damaging its action. She sat vagueeyed for at least a minute before she realised what Arthur meant.

"Dead?" she said vaguely. "Miss Vinrace dead? Dear me . . . that's very sad. But I don't at the moment

remember which she was. We seem to have made so many new acquaintances here." She looked at Susan for

"No," Susan interposed. "She was" then she gave it up in despair. There was no use in explaining that Mrs.

"She ought not to have died," Mrs. Paley continued. "She looked so strong. But people will drink the water. I

can never make out why. It seems such a simple thing to tell them to put a bottle of Seltzer water in your

bedroom. That's all the precaution I've ever taken, and I've been in every part of the world, I may sayItaly a

dozen times over. . . . But young people always think they know better, and then they pay the penalty. Poor

thingI am very sorry for her." But the difficulty of peering into a dish of potatoes and helping herself

Arthur and Susan both secretly hoped that the subject was now disposed of, for there seemed to them

something unpleasant in this discussion. But Evelyn was not ready to let it drop. Why would people never

"I don't believe you care a bit!" she said, turning savagely upon Mr. Perrott, who had sat all this time in

"I? Oh, yes, I do," he answered awkwardly, but with obvious sincerity. Evelyn's questions made him too feel

"It seems so inexplicable," Evelyn continued. "Death, I mean. Why should she be dead, and not you or I? It

was only a fortnight ago that she was here with the rest of us. What d'you believe?" she demanded of mr.

Perrott. "D'you believe that things go on, that she's still somewhereor d'you think it's simply a game we

Mr. Perrott would have said almost anything that Evelyn wanted him to say, but to assert that he believed in

the immortality of the soul was not in his power. He sat silent, more deeply wrinkled than usual, crumbling

Lest Evelyn should next ask him what he believed, Arthur, after making a pause equivalent to a full stop,

"Supposing," he said, "a man were to write and tell you that he wanted five pounds because he had known

"Invented a stove," said Evelyn. "I know all about that. We had one in the conservatory to keep the plants

"Didn't know I was so famous," said Arthur. "Well," he continued, determined at all costs to spin his story out

at length, "the old chap, being about the second best inventor of his day, and a capable lawyer too, died, as

they always do, without making a will. Now Fielding, his clerk, with how much justice I don't know, always

claimed that he meant to do something for him. The poor old boy's come down in the world through trying

inventions on his own account, lives in Penge over a tobacconist's shop. I've been to see him there. The

question ismust I stump up or not? What does the abstract spirit of justice require, Perrott? Remember, I

didn't benefit under my grandfather's will, and I've no way of testing the truth of the story."

"I don't know much about the abstract spirit of justice," said Susan, smiling complacently at the others, "but

As Mr. Perrott proceeded to deliver an opinion, and Evelyn insisted that he was much too stingy, like all

lawyers, thinking of the letter and not of the spirit, while Mrs. Paley required to be kept informed between the

courses as to what they were all saying, the luncheon passed with no interval of silence, and Arthur

congratulated himself upon the tact with which the discussion had been smoothed over.

As they left the room it happened that Mrs. Paley's wheeled chair ran into the Elliots, who were coming

through the door, as she was going out. Brought thus to a standstill for a moment, Arthur and Susan

congratulated Hughling Elliot upon his convalescence, he was down, cadaverous enough, for the first

"Would there be any chance of seeing you this afternoon, about threethirty say? I shall be in the garden, by

The block dissolved before Evelyn answered. But as she left them in the hall, she looked at him brightly and

She ran upstairs with the feeling of spiritual exaltation and quickened life which the prospect of an emotional

scene always aroused in her. That Mr. Perrott was again about to propose to her, she had no doubt, and she

was aware that on this occasion she ought to be prepared with a definite answer, for she was going away in

three days' time. But she could not bring her mind to bear upon the question. To come to a decision was very

difficult to her, because she had a natural dislike of anything final and done with; she liked to go on and on

always on and on. She was leaving, and, therefore, she occupied herself in laying her clothes out side by side

upon the bed. She observed that some were very shabby. She took the photograph of her father and mother,

and, before she laid it away in her box, she held it for a minute in her hand. Rachel had looked at it. Suddenly

the keen feeling of some one's personality, which things that they have owned or handled sometimes

preserves, overcame her; she felt Rachel in the room with her; it was as if she were on a ship at sea, and the

life of the day was as unreal as the land in the distance. But by degrees the feeling of Rachel's presence

passed away, and she could no longer realise her, for she had scarcely known her. But this momentary

sensation left her depressed and fatigued. What had she done with her life? What future was there before her?

What was makebelieve, and what was real? Were these proposals and intimacies and adventures real, or was

the contentment which she had seen on the faces of Susan and Rachel more real than anything she had ever

She made herself ready to go downstairs, absentmindedly, but her fingers were so well trained that they did

the work of preparing her almost of their own accord. When she was actually on the way downstairs, the

blood began to circle through her body of its own accord too, for her mind felt very dull.

Mr. Perrott was waiting for her. Indeed, he had gone straight into the garden after luncheon, and had been

walking up and down the path for more than half an hour, in a state of acute suspense.

"I'm late as usual!" she exclaimed, as she caught sight of him. "Well, you must forgive me; I had to pack up. .

She looked at the bay, in which a steamer was just dropping anchor, the smoke still hanging about it, while a

swift black shudder ran through the waves. "One's quite forgotten what rain looks like," she added.

"Miss Murgatroyd," he began with his usual formality, "I asked you to come here from a very selfish motive,

I fear. I do not think you need to be assured once more of my feelings; but, as you are leaving so soon, I felt

that I could not let you go without asking you to tell mehave I any reason to hope that you will ever come

The little gush of vitality which had come into Evelyn as she ran downstairs had left her, and she felt herself

impotent. There was nothing for her to say; she felt nothing. Now that he was actually asking her, in his

elderly gentle words, to marry him, she felt less for him than she had ever felt before.

Mr. Perrott followed her to a curved green seat under a tree. They looked at the fountain in front of them,

which had long ceased to play. Evelyn kept looking at the fountain instead of thinking of what she was

"Of course I care for you," she began, rushing her words out in a hurry; "I should be a brute if I didn't. I think

you're quite one of the nicest people I've ever known, and one of the finest too. But I wish . . . I wish you

didn't care for me in that way. Are you sure you do?" For the moment she honestly desired that he should say

"You see, I'm not as simple as most women," Evelyn continued. "I think I want more. I don't know exactly

"I sometimes think I haven't got it in me to care very much for one person only. Some one else would make

"If you think that there is any chance that you will come to care for me, I am quite content to wait," said Mr.

"Wellthere's no hurry, is there?" said Evelyn. "Suppose I thought it over and wrote and told you when I get

"You cannot give me any kind of idea. I do not ask for a date . . . that would be most unreasonable." He

"I know very well that I am notthat I have not much to offer you either in myself or in my circumstances.

And I forget; it cannot seem the miracle to you that it does to me. Until I met you I had gone on in my own

quiet waywe are both very quiet people, my sister and Iquite content with my lot. My friendship with

Arthur was the most important thing in my life. Now that I know you, all that has changed. You seem to put

such a spirit into everything. Life seems to hold so many possibilities that I had never dreamt of."

"That's splendid!" Evelyn exclaimed, grasping his hand. "Now you'll go back and start all kinds of things and

make a great name in the world; and we'll go on being friends, whatever happens . . . we'll be great friends,

"Evelyn!" he moaned suddenly, and took her in his arms, and kissed her. She did not resent it, although it

As she sat upright again, she said, "I never see why one shouldn't go on being friendsthough some people

do. And friendships do make a difference, don't they? They are the kind of things that matter in one's life?"

He looked at her with a bewildered expression as if he did not really understand what she was saying. With a

considerable effort he collected himself, stood up, and said, "Now I think I have told you what I feel, and I

Left alone, Evelyn walked up and down the path. What did matter than? What was the meaning of it all?

All that evening the clouds gathered, until they closed entirely over the blue of the sky. They seemed to

narrow the space between earth and heaven, so that there was no room for the air to move in freely; and the

waves, too, lay flat, and yet rigid, as if they were restrained. The leaves on the bushes and trees in the garden

hung closely together, and the feeling of pressure and restraint was increased by the short chirping sounds

So strange were the lights and the silence that the busy hum of voices which usually filled the diningroom at

meal times had distinct gaps in it, and during these silences the clatter of the knives upon plates became

audible. The first roll of thunder and the first heavy drop striking the pane caused a little stir.

There was then a profound silence, as if the thunder had withdrawn into itself. People had just begun to eat

again, when a gust of cold air came through the open windows, lifting tablecloths and skirts, a light flashed,

and was instantly followed by a clap of thunder right over the hotel. The rain swished with it, and

immediately there were all those sounds of windows being shut and doors slamming violently which

The room grew suddenly several degrees darker, for the wind seemed to be driving waves of darkness across

the earth. No one attempted to eat for a time, but sat looking out at the garden, with their forks in the air. The

flashes now came frequently, lighting up faces as if they were going to be photographed, surprising them in

tense and unnatural expressions. The clap followed close and violently upon them. Several women half rose

from their chairs and then sat down again, but dinner was continued uneasily with eyes upon the garden. The

bushes outside were ruffled and whitened, and the wind pressed upon them so that they seemed to stoop to

the ground. The waiters had to press dishes upon the diners' notice; and the diners had to draw the attention of

waiters, for they were all absorbed in looking at the storm. As the thunder showed no signs of withdrawing,

but seemed massed right overhead, while the lightning aimed straight at the garden every time, an uneasy

Finishing the meal very quickly, people congregated in the hall, where they felt more secure than in any other

place because they could retreat far from the windows, and although they heard the thunder, they could not

While the storm continued, no one seemed inclined to sit down, but they collected in little groups under the

central skylight, where they stood in a yellow atmosphere, looking upwards. Now and again their faces

became white, as the lightning flashed, and finally a terrific crash came, making the panes of the skylight lift

The rain rushed down. The rain seemed now to extinguish the lightning and the thunder, and the hall became

After a minute or two, when nothing was heard but the rattle of water upon the glass, there was a perceptible

At a touch, all the electric lights were turned on, and revealed a crowd of people all standing, all looking with

rather strained faces up at the skylight, but when they saw each other in the artificial light they turned at once

and began to move away. For some minutes the rain continued to rattle upon the skylight, and the thunder

gave another shake or two; but it was evident from the clearing of the darkness and the light drumming of the

rain upon the roof, that the great confused ocean of air was travelling away from them, and passing high over

head with its clouds and its rods of fire, out to sea. The building, which had seemed so small in the tumult of

As the storm drew away, the people in the hall of the hotel sat down; and with a comfortable sense of relief,

began to tell each other stories about great storms, and produced in many cases their occupations for the

evening. The chessboard was brought out, and Mr. Elliot, who wore a stock instead of a collar as a sign of

convalescence, but was otherwise much as usual, challenged Mr. Pepper to a final contest. Round them

gathered a group of ladies with pieces of needlework, or in default of needlework, with novels, to superintend

the game, much as if they were in charge of two small boys playing marbles. Every now and then they looked

Mrs. Paley just round the corner had her cards arranged in long ladders before her, with Susan sitting near to

sympathise but not to correct, and the merchants and the miscellaneous people who had never been

discovered to possess names were stretched in their armchairs with their newspapers on their knees. The

conversation in these circumstances was very gentle, fragmentary, and intermittent, but the room was full of

the indescribable stir of life. Every now and then the moth, which was now grey of wing and shiny of thorax,

A young woman put down her needlework and exclaimed, "Poor creature! it would be kinder to kill it." But

nobody seemed disposed to rouse himself in order to kill the moth. They watched it dash from lamp to lamp,

On the sofa, beside the chessplayers, Mrs. Elliot was imparting a new stitch in knitting to Mrs. Thornbury,

so that their heads came very near together, and were only to be distinguished by the old lace cap which Mrs.

Thornbury wore in the evening. Mrs. Elliot was an expert at knitting, and disclaimed a compliment to that

"I suppose we're all proud of something," she said, "and I'm proud of my knitting. I think things like that run

in families. We all knit well. I had an uncle who knitted his own socks to the day of his death and he did it

better than any of his daughters, dear old gentleman. Now I wonder that you, Miss Allan, who use your eyes

so much, don't take up knitting in the evenings. You'd find it such a relief, I should saysuch a rest to the

eyesand the bazaars are so glad of things." Her voice dropped into the smooth halfconscious tone of the

expert knitter; the words came gently one after another. "As much as I do I can always dispose of, which is a

Miss Allan, being thus addressed, shut her novel and observed the others placidly for a time. At last she said,

"It is surely not natural to leave your wife because she happens to be in love with you. But thatas far as I

"Tut, tut, that doesn't sound goodno, that doesn't sound at all natural," murmured the knitters in their

"_Maternity_by Michael JessopI presume," Mr. Elliot put in, for he could never resist the temptation of

"D'you know," said Mrs. Elliot, after a moment, "I don't think people _do_ write good novels nownot as

No one took the trouble to agree with her or to disagree with her. Arthur Venning who was strolling about,

sometimes looking at the game, sometimes reading a page of a magazine, looked at Miss Allan, who was half

The others looked up. They were glad that he had not spoken to them. But Miss Allan replied without any

hesitation, "I was thinking of my imaginary uncle. Hasn't every one got an imaginary uncle?" she continued.

"I have onea most delightful old gentleman. He's always giving me things. Sometimes it's a gold watch;

sometimes it's a carriage and pair; sometimes it's a beautiful little cottage in the New Forest; sometimes it's a

She set them all thinking vaguely of the things they wanted. Mrs. Elliot knew exactly what she wanted; she

"We're such lucky people," she said, looking at her husband. "We really have no wants." She was apt to say

this, partly in order to convince herself, and partly in order to convince other people. But she was prevented

from wondering how far she carried conviction by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Flushing, who came through

the hall and stopped by the chessboard. Mrs. Flushing looked wilder than ever. A great strand of black hair

looped down across her brow, her cheeks were whipped a dark blood red, and drops of rain made wet marks

"It was a wonderful sight," he said. "The lightning went right out over the sea, and lit up the waves and the

ships far away. You can't think how wonderful the mountains looked too, with the lights on them, and the

He slid down into a chair, becoming interested in the final struggle of the game.

"And indeed one is not sorry to go back," said Mrs. Elliot, assuming an air of mournful anxiety, "after all this

"I suppose we're all cowards when it comes to the point," said Mrs. Flushing, rubbing her cheek against the

"Not a bit of it!" said Mr. Flushing, turning round, for Mr. Pepper took a very long time to consider his move.

"It's not cowardly to wish to live, Alice. It's the very reverse of cowardly. Personally, I'd like to go on for a

hundred yearsgranted, of course, that I had the full use of my faculties. Think of all the things that are

bound to happen!" "That is what I feel," Mrs. Thornbury rejoined. "The changes, the improvements, the

inventionsand beauty. D'you know I feel sometimes that I couldn't bear to die and cease to see beautiful

"It would certainly be very dull to die before they have discovered whether there is life in Mars," Miss Allan

"Do you really believe there's life in Mars?" asked Mrs. Flushing, turning to her for the first time with keen

Here Mrs. Thornbury laid down her knitting, and a look of extreme solicitude came into her eyes.

St. John had just come through the swing door. He was rather blown about by the wind, and his cheeks

looked terribly pale, unshorn, and cavernous. After taking off his coat he was going to pass straight through

the hall and up to his room, but he could not ignore the presence of so many people he knew, especially as

Mrs. Thornbury rose and went up to him, holding out her hand. But the shock of the warm lamplit room,

together with the sight of so many cheerful human beings sitting together at their ease, after the dark walk in

the rain, and the long days of strain and horror, overcame him completely. He looked at Mrs. Thornbury and

Every one was silent. Mr. Pepper's hand stayed upon his Knight. Mrs. Thornbury somehow moved him to a

chair, sat herself beside him, and with tears in her own eyes said gently, "You have done everything for your

Her action set them all talking again as if they had never stopped, and Mr. Pepper finished the move with his

"There was nothing to be done," said St. John. He spoke very slowly. "It seems impossible"

He drew his hand across his eyes as if some dream came between him and the others and prevented him from

"And that poor fellow," said Mrs. Thornbury, the tears falling again down her cheeks.

"Did he have the consolation of knowing?" Mrs. Thornbury began very tentatively.

But St. John made no reply. He lay back in his chair, halfseeing the others, halfhearing what they said. He

was terribly tired, and the light and warmth, the movements of the hands, and the soft communicative voices

soothed him; they gave him a strange sense of quiet and relief. As he sat there, motionless, this feeling of

relief became a feeling of profound happiness. Without any sense of disloyalty to Terence and Rachel he

ceased to think about either of them. The movements and the voices seemed to draw together from different

parts of the room, and to combine themselves into a pattern before his eyes; he was content to sit silently

The game was really a good one, and Mr. Pepper and Mr. Elliot were becoming more and more set upon the

struggle. Mrs. Thornbury, seeing that St. John did not wish to talk, resumed her knitting.

"Lightning again!" Mrs. Flushing suddenly exclaimed. A yellow light flashed across the blue window, and

for a second they saw the green trees outside. She strode to the door, pushed it open, and stood half out in the

But the light was only the reflection of the storm which was over. The rain had ceased, the heavy clouds were

blown away, and the air was thin and clear, although vapourish mists were being driven swiftly across the

moon. The sky was once more a deep and solemn blue, and the shape of the earth was visible at the bottom of

the air, enormous, dark, and solid, rising into the tapering mass of the mountain, and pricked here and there

on the slopes by the tiny lights of villas. The driving air, the drone of the trees, and the flashing light which

now and again spread a broad illumination over the earth filled Mrs. Flushing with exultation. Her breasts

"Splendid! Splendid!" she muttered to herself. Then she turned back into the hall and exclaimed in a

Some halfstirred; some rose; some dropped their balls of wool and began to stoop to look for them.

"It was the move with your Queen that gave it away, Pepper," exclaimed Mr. Elliot triumphantly, sweeping

"What? Pepper beaten at last? I congratulate you!" said Arthur Venning, who was wheeling old Mrs. Paley to

All these voices sounded gratefully in St. John's ears as he lay halfasleep, and yet vividly conscious of

everything around him. Across his eyes passed a procession of objects, black and indistinct, the figures of

people picking up their books, their cards, their balls of wool, their workbaskets, and passing him one after