Desire was conscious of a brown and gabled station with a bow-window
and flower-beds, a long platform where baggage trucks lumbered, the
calling of taxi-men, a confused noise of greeting and farewell, and
Aunt Caroline's voice uncomfortably near her ear.
"There she is!" whispered Aunt Caroline hoarsely. "Be careful! Don't
look!"
"Who? Where?" asked Desire, wondering.
"Eliza Merryweather. Second to the left."
There was another confused impression of curious faces, of one face
especially with eager eyes and bobbing grey curls, and then she was
caught, as it were, in the swirl of Aunt Caroline and deposited,
somewhat breathless, in a car which, providentially, seemed to expect
her.
Miss Campion was breathing heavily but her face was calm.
"She nearly got it," she said. "But not quite."
"Got what?" asked Desire, still wondering.
"An introduction. Where is Benis? My dear, DON'T LOOK! She is the most
determined person."
Miss Campion herself was staring straight ahead. Desire, much amused,
endeavored to do the same.
"Surely it is a trifle!" she murmured.
But Miss Campion was preoccupied. "Where can Benis be? John, do you
know what is keeping Benis? Oh, here he is," with an exclamation of
relief. "Now we can start. Did I hear you say 'trifle,' my dear? There
are no trifles in Bainbridge. John, I think we might drive home by the
Park."
They drove home by the Park. It was not a long drive, just a dozen or
so of quiet streets, sentineled by maples; a factory in a hollow; a
church upon a hill; a glimpse of two long rows of prosperous looking
business blocks facing each other across an asphalted pavement; a white
brick school where children shouted; then quiet streets again, the
leisurely rising of a boulevarded slope and--home.
They turned in at a white gate in the centre of a long fence backed by
trees. The Spences had built their homestead in days when land was
plentiful and, being a liberal-minded race, they had taken of it what
they would. Of all the houses in Bainbridge theirs alone was prodigal
of space. It stood aloof in its own grounds, its face turned
negligently from the street, outside. For the passer-by it had no
welcome; it kept itself, its flowers and its charm, for its own people.
Desire said "Oh," as she saw it--long and white, with green shutters
and deep verandas and wide, unhurried steps. She had seen many
beautiful homes but she had never seen "home" before. The beauty and
the peace of it caught the breath in her throat. She was glad that
Benis did not speak as he gave her his hand from the car. She was glad
for the volubility of Aunt Caroline and for the preoccupation of Dr.
John with his engine. She was glad that she and Benis stepped info the
cool, dim hall alone. In the dimness she could just see the little,
nervous smile upon his lips and the warm and kindly look in his steady
eyes.
After that first moment, the picture blurred a little with the bustle
of arrival. Aunt Caroline, large and light in her cream dust-coat,
seemed everywhere. The dimness fled before her and rooms and stairs and
a white-capped maid emerged. The rooms confused Desire, there were so
many of them and all with such a strong family likeness of dark
furniture and chintz. Aunt Caroline called them by their names and,
throwing open their doors, announced them in prideful tones. Desire
felt very diffident, they were such exclusive rooms, so old and settled
and sure of themselves--and she was so new. They might, she felt,
cold-shoulder her entirely. It was touch and go.
All but one room!
"This," said her conductor, throwing open a door, "is where Benis does
his work. He calls it his den. But you will agree that library sounds
better."
Desire went in--with the other rooms she had been content to stand in
the doors--and, as she entered, the room seemed to draw round and
welcome her. It was deeply and happily familiar--that shallow, rounded
window from which one could lean and touch the grass outside, that
dark, old desk with its leather and brass, that blue bowl on the corner
of the mantel-piece, the lazy, yet expectant, chairs; even the beech
tree whose light fingers tapped upon the window glass! It was all part
of her life, past or future--somewhere.
"You see," said Aunt Caroline in her character of showman, "we have
fireplaces!"
Desire was so used to fireplaces that this did not seem extraordinary
and yet, from Aunt Caroline's tone, she knew that it must be, and tried
to look impressed.
"They are dirty," went on Aunt Caroline, "but they are worth it. They
give atmosphere. If you have a house like this, you have to have
fireplaces. That is what I tell my maids when I engage them. So that
they cannot grumble afterwards. Fireplaces are dirty, I tell them,
but--what are you staring at, my dear?"
"Was I staring? I didn't know. It is just that I seem to know it all."
Aunt Caroline looked wise. "Oh, yes. I know what you mean. Benis
explains that curious feeling--some-thing about your right sphere or
something being larger than your left, or quicker, I forget which. Not
that I can see any sense in it, anyway. Do you mind if I leave you
here? I want to see if Olive has made the changes I ordered upstairs."
"Get a hump on!" said a loud, rude voice.
Aunt Caroline jumped.
"Oh, my dear! It's that horrible parrot. Benis insists on keeping it.
Some soldier friend of his left it to him. A really terrible bird. And
its language is disgraceful. It doesn't know anything but slang. Not
even 'Polly wants a cracker.' You'll hardly believe me, but it says,
'Gimme the eats!' instead."
"Can it!" said the parrot. Aunt Caroline fled.
Desire, to whom a talking bird was a delightful novelty, went over to
the large cage where a beautiful green and yellow parrot swung
mournfully, head down.
"Pretty Polly," said Desire timidly.
The bird made a chuckling noise in his throat like a derisive goblin.
"What is your name, Polly?"
"Yorick," said Polly unexpectedly. "Alas. Poor Yorick! I knew him well."
"You'd think it knew what I said!" thought Desire with a start. She
edged away and once more the welcoming spirit of the room rose up to
meet her. She tried first one chair and then another, fingered the
leather on their backs and finally settled on the light, straight one
in the round window. It was as familiar as the glove upon her hand, and
the view from the window--well, the view from the window was partially
blocked by the professor under the beech tree, smoking.
Seeing her, he discarded his cigar and came nearer, leaning on the sill
of the opened window.
"You haven't got your hat off yet," he said in a discontented tone.
"Aren't you going to stay?"
"May not a lady wear her hat in her own house?"
"Oh, I see. Then I shan't have to butter your fingers?"
"Do you compare me to a stray cat?"
"I never compare you to anything."
Desire wanted terribly to ask why, but an unaccustomed shyness
prevented her. Instead she asked if Yorick were really the parrot's
name.
"I don't know. But he says it is, so I take his word for it. Do you
want to talk about parrots? Because it's not one of my best subjects.
May I change it?"
"If you like."
"Don't say, 'If you like,' say 'Right-o.' I always do when I think of
it. Since the war it is expected of one--a sign of this new fraternity,
you know, between Englishmen and Colonials. Everyone over there is
expected to say 'I guess' for the same reason. Only they don't do it.
How do you like your workroom?"
"Mine?"
"I thought you might not like me to say 'Ours.'"
"Don't be silly!"
"Well, how do you like it, anyway?"
Desire's eyes met his for an instant and then fell quickly. But not
before he had seen a mistiness which looked remarkably like--Good
heavens, he might have known that she would be tired and upset!
"You have noticed, of course," he went on lightly, "that we have
fireplaces? They are very dirty but they provide atmosphere. Almost too
much atmosphere sometimes. There are no dampers and when the wind blows
the wrong way--Oh, my dear child, do cry if you really feel like it."
"Cry!" indignantly. "I n--never cry."
"Well, try it for a change. I believe it is strongly recommended
and--don't go away. Please."
"I had no idea I was going to be silly," said Desire after a moment, in
an annoyed voice.
"It usually comes unexpectedly. Probably you are tired."
Desire wiped her eyes with businesslike thoroughness.
"No. I'm not. I'm suppressed. Do you remember what you said about
suppressed emotion the other day? Well, I'm like that, and it's your
fault. You bring me to this beautiful home and you never, never once,
allow me to thank you properly--oh, I'm not going to do it, so don't
look frightened. But one feels so safe here. Benis, it's years and
years since I felt just safe."
"I know. I swear every time I think of it"
"Then you can guess a little of what it means?"
Their hands were very close upon the window-sill.
"As a psychologist--" began the professor.
"Oh--No!" murmured Desire.
Their hands almost touched.
And just at that moment Aunt Caroline came in.
"Are you there, Benis?" asked Aunt Caroline unnecessarily. "I wish you
would come in and take--oh, I did not mean you to come in through the
window. If Olive saw you! But a Spence has no idea of dignity. Now that
you are in, I wish you would take Desire up to your room. I wired Olive
to prepare the west room. It is grey and pink, so nice for Desire who
is somewhat pale. The bed is very comfortable, too, and large. But, of
course, if you prefer any other room you will change. Desire, my dear,
it is your home, I do not forget that. I have had your bags carried up.
Benis can manage his own."
If Desire were pale naturally, she was more than pale now. Her
frightened eyes fluttered to her husband's face and fluttered away
again. Why had she never thought of this! Sheer panic held her quiet in
the straight-backed chair.
But Spence, without seeming to notice, had seen and understood her
startled eyes.
"Thanks, Aunt," he said cheerfully. "Of course Desire must make her own
choice. But if she takes my tip she will stay where you've put her.
It's a jolly room. As for me, I'm going up to my old diggings--thought
I'd told you."
"What!"
Aunt Caroline's remark was not a question. It was an explosion.
Spence dropped his bantering manner.
"My dear Aunt. I hate to disturb your arrangements with my
eccentricities. But insomnia is a hard master. I must sleep in my old
room. We'll consider that settled."
"Humph!" said Aunt Caroline.
Like the house, she was somewhat old fashioned.