'Her face is a pretty oval, but it conveys nothing to my mind; her
eyes are large and soft, but there is no, no---' John gesticulated
with his fingers.
'No what?'
'No beyond.'
'No what?'
'No suggestiveness in her face, no strangeness; she seems to me too
much like a woman.'
'I think a woman ought to be like a woman. You would not like a man to
be like a woman, would you?'
'That's different. Women are often beautiful, but their beauty is not
of the highest type. You admit that Kitty is a pretty girl. Well,
she's not nearly so womanly in face or figure as Lucy. Her figure is
slight even to boyishness. She's like a little antique statue done in
a period of decadence. She has the far-away look in the eyes which we
find in antique sculpture, and which is so attractive to me. But you
don't understand.'
'I understand very well. I understand you far better than you think,'
Mrs. Norton answered angrily. She was angered by what she deemed her
son's affectations, and by the arrival of the architect before whom
John was to lay his scheme for the reconstruction of the house.
Mr. Egerton seemed to think John's architecture somewhat wild, but he
promised to see what could be done to overcome the difficulties he
foresaw, and in a week he forwarded John several drawings for his
consideration. Judged by comparison with John's dreams, the practical
architecture of the experienced man seemed altogether lacking in
expression and in poetry of proportion; and comparing them with his
own cherished project, John hung over the billiard-table, where the
drawings were laid out.
He could think of nothing but his monastery; his Latin authors were
forgotten; he drew facades and turrets on the cloth during dinner, and
he went up to his room, not to bed, but to reconsider the difficulties
that rendered the construction of a central tower an impossibility.
Once again he takes up the architect's notes.
_'The interior would be so constructed as to make it impossible to
carry up the central tower. The outer walls would not be strong enough
to take the large gables and roof. Although the chapel could be done
easily, the ambulatory would be of no use, as it would lead probably
from the kitchen offices.
'Would have to reduce work on front facade to putting in new arched
entrance. Buttresses would take the place of pilasters.
'The bow-window could remain.
'The roof to be heightened somewhat. The front projection would throw
the front rooms into almost total darkness.'_
'But why not a light timber lantern tower?' thought John. 'Yes, that
would get over the difficulty. Now, if we could only manage to keep my
front.... If my design for the front cannot be preserved, I might as
well abandon the whole thing! And then?'
His face contracted in an expression of anger. He rose from the table,
and looked round the room. The room seemed to him a symbol--the
voluptuous bed, the corpulent arm-chair, the toilet-table shapeless
with muslin--of the hideous laws of the world and the flesh, ever at
variance and at war, and ever defeating the indomitable aspirations of
the soul. John ordered his room to be changed; and in the face of much
opposition from his mother, who declared that he would never be able
to sleep there, and would lose his health, he selected a narrow room
at the end of the passage. He would have no carpet. He placed a small
iron bed against the wall; two plain chairs, a screen to keep off the
draught from the door, a small basin-stand, such as you might find in
a ship's cabin, and a _prie-dieu_ were all the furniture he permitted
himself.
'Oh, what a relief!' he murmured. 'Now there is line, there is
definite shape. That formless upholstery frets my eye as false notes
grate on my ear;' and, becoming suddenly conscious of the presence of
God, he fell on his knees and prayed. He prayed that he might be
guided aright in his undertaking, and that, if it were conducive to
the greater honour and glory of God, he might be permitted to found a
monastery, and that he might be given strength to surmount all
difficulties.