It was from an aunt of mine that I first heard of Norman's attachment
to Lilias Oxley.
Whenever I received a letter from my relative, I had first to realize
that its mission was to educate, not to entertain. She was a woman of
strong ideas, and, as my mother died very early in my life, she seldom
lost an opportunity of impressing a moral--like the Queen in _Alice
in Wonderland_. In her correspondence, and to a large extent in her
conversation, my aunt was given to dashes, underlines, and
exclamation-marks. It is perhaps unnecessary to state that she was a
single woman.
I received the letter two months after Christmas; it was dated from the
Beacon at Hindhead.
"MY DEAR NEPHEW,--You will find mentholated crystals--carried in a
small bottle--a splendid preventive against the present epidemic of
cold in the head! Sniff a little every night before going to bed.
"When are you going to marry? For goodness' sake, marry a _dark_
girl when you do. Our family is growing positively colorless!
"Your friend, Mr. Norman, is visiting the Oxleys down here. It
seems young Oxley is trying to write a play with some ideas in it,
and Norman thinks he can help him! Who in the world wants to see a
play with _their_ ideas! It's a pity you couldn't teach him to do
something useful--Norman, I mean.--Young Oxley is going into the
Church! Why doesn't he go to Canada! I mean _Norman_.
"Do you remember little Lilias Oxley? She had pneumonia last year,
though I _warned_ her mother about flannel soaked in goose-oil and
turpentine! She always looked like a hothouse flower, and now she
is simply _frail_. Of course, she's pretty and has eyes that always
makes fools of the men--not that _that_ signifies! Everybody says
she's artistic, but all I ever hear her play is by some newfangled
foreigner named Debussy, and it's all discord. She's only nineteen
and looks sixteen.
"Of course, young Norman comes along, and instead of picking out
some healthy _buxom_ girl, he falls in love with this bit of tinsel
china! It's criminal, and should not be _allowed_. What kind of
children will they have, if any! He calls her his
_Beatrice_--Heaven knows why!
"They are together _constantly_. I would write to the _Times_ about
it if I thought that Lord Northfellow would publish it. We should
have a Minister of _Eugenics_! Surely Winston Churchill would be
better employed at that than trying to build up a huge navy we'll
never need! By the way, I see he's taken to writing _novels_ now!
"Do talk to young Norman! Tell him your uncle is doing very well
with pigs in Canada; and why not induce your friend to go _there_,
and get some _common-sense_, because every Canadian I meet has a
head on his shoulders? It must be the climate!
"I am going to stay here for a month, and then visit my cousin in
Scotland. She has six children. Whatever induced her to marry a
minister? He has no money and no _prospects_--except more children,
I suppose!
"Does that Mulvaney woman see that your room is kept aired? When
you write you should have the window open and a cap on your head.
"I hope you will never write books! It is quite a _distinction_
nowadays not to.
"Where did you go for Christmas?--Your loving aunt,
"HANNAH.
"Feby. 8/1914."
The only way I can account for my aunt's love of exclamation-marks was
her delight at seeing a sentence round to a good finish. I have known
authors to be so overcome with the dramatic significance of their work
that they put them in as a sort of public recognition thereof.
_En passant_.... I wonder why my aunt never wrote a serial story
for one of the London dailies.