The thought of Roddy gave her a pain in her heart. The thought of not
going to Agaye dragged at her waist and made her feel weak, suddenly, as
if she were trying to stand after an illness.
She went up to her room. The shoulder line of Greffington Edge was fixed
across the open window, immovable, immutable. Her knees felt tired. She
lay down on her bed, staring at the immovable, immutable white walls. She
tried to think of Substance, of the Reality behind appearances. She could
feel her mind battering at the walls of her body, the walls of her room,
the walls of the world. She could hear it crying out.
She was kneeling now beside her bed. She could see her arms stretched out
before her on the counterpane, and her hands, the finger-tips together.
She pressed her weak, dragging waist tighter against the bed.
"If Anything's there--if Anything's there--make me give up going. Make
me think about Roddy. Not about myself. About Roddy. _Roddy_. Make me not
want to go to Agaye."
She didn't really believe that anything would happen.
Her mind left off crying. Outside, the clock on the Congregational Chapel
was striking six. She was aware of a sudden checking and letting go, of a
black stillness coming on and on, hushing sound and sight and the touch
of her arms on the rough counterpane, and her breathing and the beating
of her heart. There was a sort of rhythm in the blackness that caught you
and took you into its peace. When the thing stopped you could almost hear
the click.
She stood up. Her white room was grey. Across the window the shoulder of
the hill had darkened. Out there the night crouched, breathing like an
immense, quiet animal. She had a sense of exquisite security and clarity
and joy. She was not going to Agaye. She didn't want to go.
She thought: "I shall have to tell the Sutcliffes. Now, this evening. And
Mamma. They'll be sorry and Mamma will be glad."
But Mamma was not glad. Mamma hated it when you upset arrangements. She
said, "I declare I never saw anybody like you in my life. After all the
trouble and expense."
But you could see it was Roddy she was thinking about. She didn't want to
believe there was anything the matter with him. If you went that would
look as though he was all right.
"What do you suppose the Sutcliffes will think? And your Uncle Victor?
With all those new clothes and that new trunk?"
"He'll understand."
"_Will_ he!"
"Mr. Sutcliffe, I mean."