1
As the boat turned round the end of the pier and moved up the harbour to
her berth, Gilbert, eyeing the passengers, caught sight of Henry and
instantly hallooed to him. The passage from Kingstown had been smooth,
and Henry, heartened by the sea air and sunshine, pressed eagerly
through the throng of passengers so that he might be near the gangway
and so be among the first to descend from the steamer. He called a
greeting to Gilbert, and then, the boat being berthed, hurried forward
to the gangway. He could not get off the steamer as quickly as he wished
for the number of passengers on board was very large, and he fidgeted
impatiently until he was able to get ashore.
"We'll send this bag on by the waggonette," Gilbert said, when they had
shaken hands and congratulated each other on their healthy looks, "and
walk over to Tre'Arrdur, and we'll gabble on the way. Here," he added,
taking a letter out of his breastpocket, "you can read that while I find
the man. It's from Ninian. It came this morning!..."
He seized Henry's bag and hurried off with it, leaving Henry to follow
slowly or remain where he was, as he pleased, and then, before Henry had
time to do more than take the letter from its envelope and glance
carelessly at the first page of it, he came quickly back. "Come up," he
said, putting his arm in Henry's. "You can read it as you go along.
There's not much in it!"
They left the pier and passed through the station into the street.
"Holyhead," said Gilbert, "is a good place to get drunk in! We won't
linger!..."
They took the lower road to Tre'Arrdur Bay because it was quieter than
the upper road, and as they walked, Henry read Ninian's letter.
"He seems to like South America," he said, returning the letter to
Gilbert when he had finished with it.
Gilbert nodded his head. "That old Tunnel of his doesn't get itself
built, does it? But it must be great fun building a railway in a place
like that. There's a revolution on the first and third Tuesdays of the
month, and the President of the Republic and the Emperor of the Empire
are in power for a fortnight and in exile for another one. So Ninian
says. He told Roger in his last letter that he had had to kick the
emperor's backside for him for interfering with the railway contract....
Oh, by the bye, Rachel's produced an infant. She says it's like Roger,
but Roger hopes not. He says it's like nothing on earth. He came to see
me off from Euston yesterday and when I asked him to describe it to me,
he said he couldn't ... it was indescribable. It looks _raw_, he says.
It must be frightfully comic to be a father, Quinny!"
"I don't see anything comic about it," Henry replied. "I'd rather like
to be a father myself."
"Well, why don't you become one. They say it's easy enough. First, you
get a wife...."
"What sort of an infant is it? Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Great Scott!" said Gilbert, "I forgot to ask that. That was very
careless of me. Look out, Quinny, here's a motor, and that's Holy
Mountain on the right. We'll go up it to-morrow, if you like. It's not
much of a climb. Just enough to jig you up a bit. There's a chap in the
hotel who scoots up mountains like a young goat. He asked me to go up
Snowdon with him, but when I asked him what the tramfare was, he was
slightly snorty in his manner. How's the novel getting on?"
"It'll be out in September. I corrected the final proofs last month. I
think it's rather good."
"Better than 'Turbulence' or 'The Wayward Man'?"
"Yes, I think so. I'm calling it 'The Fennels.' That's the name of the
people it's about. I've taken an Ulster family and ... well, that's what
I've done. I've taken an Ulster family and just shown it. My father
likes it much better than anything else I've done, although he was very
keen on 'Turbulence.'"
"How is your father?"
"Oh, much better, thanks, but still a bit shaky. He hates all this
Volunteer business in Ireland. You remember John Marsh, don't you, and
Galway? You saw them in Dublin that time!..." Gilbert nodded his head
and so Henry did not complete his sentence. "Well, they're up to their
necks in the opposition Volunteers. I saw John in Dublin yesterday for a
few minutes. He was very excited about the gun-running in Ulster! Damned
play-acting! He could hardly spare the time to say 'How are you?' to me,
he was so anxious to be off to his drilling. He hasn't done any writing
for a long time now. He's become very friendly with Mineely!..."
"Is that the Labour man?"
"Yes. I liked him when I met him, but he's frightfully bitter since the
strike. He's got more brains than all the others put together, and he
influences John tremendously. I don't wonder at his bitterness. The
employers _were_ brutal in that strike, Gilbert, and Mineely will never
forget it. He'll make trouble for them yet, and they'll deserve all they
get. He said to me 'They won't deal reasonably with us, so they can't
complain if we deal unreasonably with them. They set the police on to
us....'"
"What's he going to do then?"
"I don't know, but he's drilling his men as hard as ever he can. He
means to hit back. After he'd spoken about the police, he said, 'The
next time we go to them, we'll have guns in our hands. Mebbe they'll
listen to us then!' He's like John ... he doesn't care what happens to
himself. All those people, John and Galway and Mineely, have a contempt
for death that I can't understand. I loathe the thought of dying ... but
they don't seem to mind. It's their religion partly, I suppose, but it's
something more than religion. If they were poor, like the slum people, I
could understand it better. You can't frighten _them_ by threatening to
kill them. Their life is such a rotten one that they'd be much better
off if they were dead, even if there were no heaven, and I suppose they
feel that ... and of course the Catholic religion teaches them to
despise life! But it isn't all religious fervour or the apathy of people
who're too poor to mind whether they live or die. Marsh and Galway and
Mineely are moved by a sort of nationalistic ecstasy ... Marsh and
Galway more than Mineely, I think, because there's a bitterness in him
that isn't in them. They think of Ireland first, and he thinks of
starving workmen first. They're Ireland mad. They really don't value
their lives a happorth. They'd love to be martyrised for Ireland. It's a
kind of lust, Gilbert. They get a sensual look on their faces ... almost
... when they talk of dying for Ireland."
"It's a little silly of us English people who love life so much to try
and govern a people like that," said Gilbert.
2
Much had happened to them in the two years that had elapsed since the
day on which Gilbert carried Henry off to Dublin. The Bloomsbury
household had come to an end. Suddenly and, as it seemed to them,
inexplicably, Mrs. Clutters had died. It had never occurred to any of
them that Mrs. Clutters could die. They seldom saw her. The kitchen was
her domain, and Magnolia was her messenger. If they had any preferences
or prejudices concerning food, they made them known to Magnolia, and
Magnolia made them known to Mrs. Clutters. Ninian returning home in an
epicurean mood, might announce that he had seen mushrooms in a
greengrocer's window. "Magnolia," he would say, "let there be
mushrooms!" and Magnolia would answer, "Yes, sir, certainly, sir!" and
behold in the morning there would be mushrooms for breakfast. Or Gilbert
would give their opinion of a dish. "Magnolia, we do not like scrambled
eggs. We like our eggs boiled, fried, poached, beaten up in milk, Mr.
Graham even likes them raw, but none of us like them scrambled!..." and
Magnolia would say, "Yes, sir, certainly, sir!" and so scrambled eggs
ceased to be seen on their breakfast table. Magnolia always said, "Yes,
sir, certainly, sir!" If they had informed her that the Judgment Day was
to begin that afternoon at three o'clock, Magnolia, they felt sure,
would say, "Yes, sir, certainly, sir!" and go on with her work.... There
seemed to be no adequate excuse for Mrs. Clutters' death ... "an'
everythink goin' on so nice an' all!" as Magnolia said ... and yet she
had died. There had been delay in serving breakfast, and Roger, anxious
to catch a train, had been impatient.
"Magnolia!" he shouted from the door, "Magnolia!"
"Yes, sir!" Magnolia answered in an agitated voice.
They waited for her to add "Certainly, sir!" but she did not do so, and
they looked oddly at each other, feeling that something unusual had
happened.
"We're waiting for breakfast," Roger said in a less impatient voice.
"Yes, sir, I'm comin', sir!..."
Magnolia appeared at the door, very red in the face and very worried in
her looks, and placed a covered dish in front of Roger who was the
father of the four, appointed to carve and to serve.
"What's this?" Roger demanded when he had removed the cover.
"Please, sir, it's eggs, sir! Fried eggs, sir! That's what it's supposed
to be, sir!" Magnolia replied dubiously.
"It's a bad imitation, Magnolia!" Gilbert said. "I think I'll just have
bread and marmalade this morning!"
He reached for the marmalade as he spoke, and Henry, eyeing the eggs
with disrelish, murmured, "After you, Gilbert!"
"Tell Mrs. Clutters I want her," Roger said to Magnolia.
"Please, sir, she's not very well in herself this mornin'...."
"Not very well!"
"Do you mean to say she's ill?" Ninian shouted.
"Yes, sir. It was me fried the eggs, sir!"
"But ... but she can't be ill," Ninian continued.
"Well, she is, sir. That's what she says any'ow. 'You'll 'ave to cook
the breakfis yourself', she says to me, an' when I said I didn't know
'ow, she said 'Well, you must do the best you can, that's all!' an' I
done it, sir. She don't look well at all!..."
"How long has she been ill?" Roger asked.
"I don't know, sir. She didn't tell me. She was groanin' a bit yesterday
an' the day before, but she wouldn't give in. I said to 'er, 'If I was
you, Mrs. Clutters, I'd 'ave a doctor an' chance it!' an' she told me to
'old me tongue, so of course I wasn't goin' to say no more, not after
that. I mean to say, I can take a 'int as good as any one...."
"We'd better send for a doctor," Roger said, interrupting Magnolia.
"I'll telephone to Dunroon. He lives quite near!" Then he remembered his
county court case. "You'd better telephone, Quinny! I _must_ catch this
train. Take these ... eggs away, Magnolia. We won't say anything more
about them. You did your best!"
"Yes, sir, I did, but I told 'er I didn't know 'ow...."
"All right!" said Roger, passing the dish to her.
3
Dr. Dunroon suggested that they should send for Mrs. Clutters' friends.
"Is it serious, doctor?" Henry asked, and the doctor nodded his head.
"She's dying," he said.
"Dying!"
Magnolia, disregarding the conventions, had stood by, openly listening
to what they were saying, and when she heard the doctor say that Mrs.
Clutters was dying, she let a howl out of her that startled them. The
doctor turned to her quickly.
"Hold your tongue," he said, "or she'll hear you. Anybody 'ud think you
were dying by the noise you're making!"
Magnolia blubbered away. "I 'ate to 'ear of anybody dyin'," she said. "I
never been in a 'ouse before where it's 'appened, an' besides she's been
good to me!" Her mind wandered off at a tangent "Any'ow," she said,
wiping her eyes, "I done me best. No one can't never say I ain't done me
best, an' the best can't do no more!"
"Has she got any friends, Magnolia?..."
It seemed to them to be extraordinary that this woman had lived in their
house, had worked and cared for them, and yet was so much a stranger to
them that now, in this time of her coming dissolution, they did not know
where her friends were to be found, whether indeed, she had any friends.
"That's very English," Henry thought; "in Ireland we know all about our
servants!"
"Well, I _think_ 'e's 'er 'usband," Magnolia replied. "Any'ow, 'e was
drunk when 'e come!..."
They had assumed that Mrs. Clutters was a widow, a childless widow....
"I've seen 'im 'angin' about two-three times, an' when I said to 'er,
'Mrs. Clutters, there's your friend 'angin' about the corner of the
street, she tole me to mind me own business, an' then she 'urried out.
Of course, it 'adn't got nothink to do with me, 'oo 'e was, an' when she
tole me to mind me own business, I took the 'int...."
"Do you know where he lives?" Gilbert asked.
"No, sir, I don't. When she told me to mind me own business!..."
The approach of Death had made Magnolia amazingly garrulous. She said
more to them that morning than she had said to them all the rest of the
time she had been in their service ... and mixed up with her
reminiscences of what Mrs. Clutters had said to her and what she had
said to Mrs. Clutters, there was a continual statement of her fear and
dislike of death, followed by the assertion that no one 'ad ever died in
a house she'd worked in before.
"You'd think she was blaming us for it," Gilbert said afterwards.
"Well, you'd better go and ask her to tell you where her husband lives,"
Henry said to her, but she shrunk away from him when he said that.
"Oh, I couldn't go near no one what was dyin'," she said. "I ain't used
to it, an' I don't like it!"
Ninian shoved her aside. "I'll go," he said.
"We'd better get some one to look after her," Gilbert proposed when
Ninian had gone. "Magnolia's no damn good!..."
"No, sir, I ain't ... not with dead people I ain't!"
"Clear out, Magnolia!" Gilbert shouted at her. "Go and make the beds or
sit in the kitchen or something!"
"Yes, sir, certainly, sir!" Magnolia answered, and then she left the
room.
"I've never felt such a helpless ass in my life before," Gilbert went on
when she had shut the door behind her. "I simply don't know what to do!"
"We can't do anything," Henry murmured. "Dunroon said he'd come in again
in a short while. Perhaps if we were to get a nurse or somebody. There's
sure to be a Nurses' Home near to. Can't we ring up somebody?"
He got hold of the telephone book and began to turn over the pages
rapidly.
"What are you looking for?" Gilbert asked.
"Nursing Homes," he answered.
"That's no good. Let's send round to Dunroon's!..."
"He won't be there!"
"Some one'll be there. We'll ring 'em up!..."
Dr. Dunroon's secretary was there, and she knew exactly what to do. "Oh,
very well," she said in a voice so calm that Gilbert felt reassured.
"I'll send some one round as soon as possible!"
Ninian came down the stairs before they had finished telephoning to Dr.
Dunroon's secretary.
"I'm going to fetch her husband," he whispered to Henry, and then he
left them.
4
"Let's go out," Gilbert said suddenly to Henry.
The nurse had arrived, and was busy in attendance on Mrs. Clutters.
Magnolia, full of the antagonism which servants instinctively feel
towards nurses, was maintaining a grievance in the kitchen. "Givin' 'er
orders, as if she was some one!" she was mumbling to herself. "Too
bossy, she is!..."
"It's no good trying to do any work to-day," Gilbert went on. "I ... I
couldn't make up things with her ... up there!"
They told Magnolia that they would have their meals out, and that she
need not trouble to cook anything for them, and they sent for the nurse
and explained their circumstances to her. "That's all right," she said
cheerfully, "I'll look after myself!"
They set off towards Hampstead, but after a while they found themselves
returning to Bloomsbury. They could not keep away from the house....
They tried to eat a meal at the Vienna Cafe, but they could not swallow
the food, so they paid their bill and went away. They wandered into the
British Museum, and tried to interest themselves in Egyptology....
"This female," said Gilbert, pointing to the mummy of the Priestess of
Amen-Ra, "is supposed to bring frightful ill-luck to you if you squint
at her. There was a fellow at Cambridge who was cracked about her ...
used to come here in vac. and make love to her ... sit here for hours
spooning with a corpse. I often wanted to smack his face for him!"
"Pose, I expect!" Henry replied. "I should have thought it was rather
dull to get smitten on a woman who's as dead as this one is...."
They remembered Mrs. Clutters....
"Let's go back and see what's happened," Gilbert said, turning away from
the case which held the Priestess....
Ninian met them in the hall. "She's dead," he said. "Her husband's in
the kitchen. I found him in a lodging-house in Camden Town, and I should
say he's a first-class rotter!"
5
They sat together that evening without speaking. There was to have been
a meeting of the Improved Tories to talk over Roger's plan for enlarging
the Army and mitigating the problem of unemployment. They could not get
messages to people in time, and so part of the evening was spent in
whispered explanations at the door to those who turned up.
"I think I'll go to bed," Ninian said, but he did not move, nor did any
of them move. It was as if they wished to keep together as long as
possible.
Magnolia, red-eyed from weeping, had come to them earlier in the
evening, declaring that she was frightened.
"What are you afraid of?" Roger snapped at her.
"'Er!" she answered.
"But she's dead!..."
"Yes, sir," Magnolia said, "that's why! I don't like goin' upstairs be
meself, sir!..."
"Oh, rubbish, Magnolia!" Roger exclaimed.
"I can't 'elp bein' afraid, sir. I know she's dead an' can't do me no
'arm ... not that she'd want to do me any 'arm ... I will say that for
'er ... but some'ow I'm afraid all the same, sir. I can't 'elp it!"
"I want to get a book out of my room," Henry interjected, "so I'll go
upstairs with her!"
"Oh, thank you, sir," said Magnolia gratefully. "I know she wouldn't
'arm me if she could 'elp it, not if she was alive any'ow, but they're
different when they're dead!..." She broke down, blubbering hopelessly.
"Oh, I wish I was 'ome," she moaned.
"Come on, Magnolia!" Henry said, opening the door for her.
"That girl's getting on my nerves," Gilbert murmured when she had gone.
Magnolia followed Henry upstairs. They had to pass the room in which the
dead woman lay, and Magnolia, when she reached the door, gave a little
squeal of fright and ran forward, thrusting past Henry.... "Don't be a
fool, Magnolia!" he said, catching hold of her arm and steadying her.
"I'm frightened, sir!" she moaned, looking up at him with dilated eyes.
"There's nothing to be afraid of. Come along!"
He took her to her room and opened the door for her.
"You're all right now, aren't you?" he said, switching on the light.
"Yes, thank you, sir!"
"Good-night, then!"
"Good-night, sir!"
When she had shut the door, he heard her turning the key in the lock,
and he smiled at her precaution. "That wouldn't hinder Mrs. Clutters'
ghost if she ... if she started to walk!" he thought to himself, as he
descended the stairs to his room. He had switched off the light on
Magnolia's landing, but there was a light showing dimly up the stairs
from the landing beneath. It shone faintly on the door of the room in
which Mrs. Clutters' body was lying. He went down the stairs towards the
door, and then, half-way down, stopped. He could not look away from the
door ... he felt that in a moment or two it would open, and Mrs.
Clutters, in her grave-clothes, would stand in the shadow and look at
him with fixed eyes....
"Don't be a fool!" he said aloud, shaking his head and dashing his hand
across his eyes as if he were trying to sweep something away. "I'm
nervy, that's what it is," he went on, still speaking aloud. "I'm worse
than Magnolia!..."
He descended the rest of the stairs, determined not to show any sign of
fear, and then, as he passed the door, he shut his eyes and hurried by.
He ran down the next flight of stairs, afraid to look back, and did not
pause in his running until he had reached the ground floor. He stood
still in the hall for a few minutes to recover himself, and then he
entered the room where the others were sitting.
They looked up at him.
"All right?" Ninian asked, and Henry nodded his head.
"You haven't brought the book," Roger said.
"No," he answered, "No ... I changed my mind. I didn't really want the
book. I just said that to ... to get Magnolia out of the room!"
6
Mrs. Clutters' husband insisted on seeing them after the funeral
because, he said, he wished to thank them for all they had done for
"'er!" He made a jerk over his shoulder with his thumb when he said
"'er," and they gathered that he was indicating the direction of Kensal
Green cemetery. He was very maudlin and drunk, and Ninian thought that
he ought to be kicked.
"I'm shorry," he said, "to be thish con ... condish'n, gemmem, but y'see
it's like this. A gemman said to me, y'see, 'Bert,' 'e says ... thash my
name ... Bert, called after Queen's 'usban' ... Gaw' bless 'er!...
Alber' the Goo' they called '_im_ ... not me, oh, Lor' no!... thish
gemmam, 'e says to me, 'Bert,' 'e says, 'come an' 'ave one!' an' so o'
course I '_ad_ to 'ave one. Thash 'ow 'twas, see! Shorry to be in thish
disgrashful state ... thish sad occas'n, gemmem. Very shorry! _I_ thank
you!" He turned to leave them, staggering towards the door. "I ain't
been a good 'usban' to 'er," he went on, again making the jerking
gesture over his shoulder with his thumb. "Thash a fac'. I ain't. But I
'pologise. I'm shorry! Can't say no more'n that, can I? Goo'-ni',
gemmem!"
And then he staggered out.
"Somebody ought to do him in," said Ninian, going to see that he left
the house as quickly as possible.
"Well," said Roger, when Ninian had returned, "what are we going to do
next?"
"Sack Magnolia," said Gilbert.
"And then?" Roger went on.
"I don't know," Gilbert replied.
"I suppose we can get another housekeeper," Henry suggested.
"Yes, we could do that," said Gilbert.
Roger got up and moved about the room for a few moments. "I think I
shall get married," he said at last. "I've got to get married some time,
and I might as well get married now. This ... this business seems to
provide an opportunity, don't you think?"
"It's a pity to break up the house," Gilbert murmured.
"It'll have to be broken up some day," Roger retorted.
Ninian joined in. "There's talk of a big railway contract in South
America, and I might have to go. Hare spoke of sending me. In about six
months' time...."
"We might let the house furnished for the remainder of the lease," Roger
went on. "Perhaps some one would take the furniture over altogether....
I could use some of it, of course, for my house when I get married!"
"You've settled it then!" said Gilbert.
"Not exactly. I haven't said anything to Rachel yet. The idea occurred
to me in the chapel while the parson was saying the Burial Service!"
"I could have hit that fellow," Gilbert exclaimed. "Gabbling it off like
that! I suppose he was in a hurry to get home to tea!"
They sat in silence for a while, each of them conjuring up the
vision of the cold little service in the cemetery chapel. Magnolia,
clothed in black, had sobbed loudly, while Mr. Clutters sniffed
and said "A-men" very emphatically, and the parson, regarding the
little group of mourners with the curiosity of a man who is bored
by death and the ritual of burial, gabbled away: _NowisChristrisen
fromthedeadandbecomethefirstfruitsofthemthatsleptforsince_
_Bymancamedeathbymancamealso_
_Theresurrectionofthedead...._
"It means breaking up everything," Gilbert still protested.
"Things are always breaking up," said Roger.
"I suppose so," Gilbert replied.
Henry had not taken part in the conversation, but had lain back in his
chair, with his hands clasped behind his head, lazily listening to what
they were saying.
"I don't think I'd like to go on living here," he exclaimed,
"particularly if Roger and Ninian go away. Perhaps we could share a flat
or something, Gilbert?"
"That's a notion," Gilbert answered.
"There's no reason why the Improved Tories should collapse just because
I'm going to get married," Roger asserted. "This house really isn't the
most convenient place to meet. We might hire a room in a hotel near the
Strand and meet there...."
7
The house was let unfurnished. The incoming tenant was willing to take
on the remainder of their lease and continue in occupation of the house
after its expiry, but he had furniture of his own, and so he had no use
for theirs. Roger took his furniture to a small house in Hampstead, and
offered to buy most of what was left, but they would not listen to his
proposals. "We'll give it to you as a wedding present," they insisted.
"If there's anything you don't want, well sell it!" Magnolia was
presented with a couple of months' wages and a new dress, and bidden to
get another home as soon as she could conveniently do so ... and then
the house was abandoned.
"It's funny," said Gilbert, as they shut the door behind them for the
last time, "it's funny that we hardly ever thought of that old woman,
and yet, the minute she dies, we sort of go to pieces. We didn't even
know she'd got a husband. Her name was Jennifer. I saw it on the coffin
lid!..."
Their arrangements for quitting the house were not completed for a month
after the burial of Mrs. Clutters, and before they finally settled their
affairs, Ninian was told that he was to proceed to South America with
the junior partner. He was to have a couple of months' leave ... "I
shall go down to Boveyhayne," he said ... after which he would leave
England for a lengthy while. "And then there were three!" said Gilbert,
when Ninian told them of his appointment. "Three little clever boys," he
went on, "going up to fame. One little clever boy got married and then
there were two!..."
Until they could make some settlement of their future, they decided to
live in a boarding house in Russell Square.
"We shall loathe it," Gilbert said, "but that will be good for us!"
8
And then Roger and Rachel got married. They walked into a Registrar's
office, with Gilbert and Ninian and Henry to bear them company, and
made their declarations of fealty to each other.
"My father would have been horrified," Roger said at luncheon
afterwards. "If he'd been alive, Rachel, we'd have had to get married in
a church!"
Rachel smiled. "I shouldn't have minded, Roger!" she answered. "You'll
laugh, I know, when I tell you that half-way through the service I began
to long for a surplice and the Voice that Breathed O'er Eden. A marriage
in a church is a lot prettier than one in a Registrar's office!..."
"If only the Mayor of the Borough had performed the ceremony," Gilbert
lamented. "In his nice furry red robes and cocked hat, joining you two
together in the name of the Borough of Holborn, he 'd have looked rather
jolly! Roger, we ought to get the Improved Tories to consider the
question of Civil Marriage. We want more beauty in it. Rachel, my dear,
I haven't kissed you yet. I look upon myself as Roger's best man, and I
ought to kiss you!"
"Very well, Gilbert," she answered, turning her face towards him.
"You've deceived us all, Rachel," he said as he kissed her. "We'd made
up our minds to hate you because you were taking our little Roger from
us, and at first we thought we were right to hate you because you were
so aggressive to us, but you've deceived us. We don't hate you. We like
you, Rachel!"
"Do you, Gilbert?" She turned to Ninian and Henry. "Do you like me,
too?" she said.
"I shouldn't mind marrying you myself," Ninian replied.
"I don't see why Gilbert should get all the kisses," said Henry. "After
all, I more or less gave you away, didn't I? I was there anyhow!...."
So she kissed Ninian and Henry too. Then, a little later, Roger and she
went off to spend a honeymoon in Normandy.
9
"I feel horribly lonely somehow," said Gilbert to Henry. Ninian, in a
hurry to catch the train for Boveyhayne at Waterloo, had left them at
Charing Cross.
Henry nodded his head.
"This marrying and giving in marriage is the devil, isn't it?" Gilbert
went on. "We ought to cheer ourselves up, Quinny!"
"We ought, Gilbert!"
"Let's go and see my play. Perhaps that'll make us feel merry and
bright!..."
"No," said Henry. "It wouldn't. It 'ud depress us. We'd keep thinking of
Ninian and Roger. I think we ought to get drunk, Gilbert, very and
incredibly drunk...."
"I should feel like Mrs. Clutters' husband if I did that," Gilbert
answered. "Aren't there any other forms of debauchery? Couldn't we go to
a music-hall or a picture-palace or something? Or we might discuss our
future!..."
"I'm sick of this boarding house we're in," Henry exclaimed.
"So am I, but I don't feel like setting up house again. I'm certain
you'd go and get married the moment we'd settled into a place...."
"I'm not a marrying man, Gilbert," Henry interrupted.
"Well, what are you, Quinny?"
"I don't know!"
They were wandering aimlessly along the streets. They had drifted along
Regent Street, and then had drifted into Oxford Street, and were going
slowly in the direction of Marble Arch.
"Quinny!" said Gilbert after a while.
"Yes?" Henry answered.
"Have you ... have you seen Cecily since you came back?"
"Yes. Twice!"
Gilbert did not ask the question which was on the tip of his tongue, but
Henry was willing to give the answer without being asked.
"She didn't appear to know I'd been away," he said.
"She knew all the same!..."
"She just said, 'Hilloa, Paddy I' and went on talking to the other
people who were there too. I tried to outstay them, but Jimphy came in
the first time, and there was a painter there the second time, who
wouldn't budge. He's painting her portrait. I've not seen her since...."
"You're glad, aren't you, that I kidnapped you, Quinny?"
"In a way, yes!"
"You got on with your book, anyhow. You'd never have done that if you'd
stayed in town, trailing after Cecily!"
"I can't quite make you out, Gilbert," Henry said, turning to his
friend. "Are you in love with Cecily?"
Gilbert nodded his head. "Of course, I am, but what's the good? Cecily
doesn't love me any more than she loves you. She doesn't love any man
particularly. She's ... just an Appetite. You and I are no more to her
than ... than the caramel she ate last Tuesday. The only hope for us is
that we shall grow out of this caramel state or at all events get the
upper hand of it.... In the meantime, what are we going to do?"
"Work, I suppose. 'Turbulence' is nearly finished, and I'm itching to
get on with a new story I've thought of. I'm calling it 'The Wayward
Man.' ..."
"We might go into the country...."
"Or hire a furnished flat for a while...."
"Or do something.... Lordy God, Quinny, we're getting frightfully vague
and loose-endy. We really must pull ourselves together. There's a
bun-shop somewhere about. Suppose we have tea?"
10
They took a furnished flat in Buckingham Street, and lived there while
Henry completed "Turbulence" and saw it through the press. Gilbert had
finished another comedy soon after the production of "The Magic
Casement," and Sir Geoffrey Mundane had asked for a first option on it.
"The Magic Casement" was not a great popular success, but it "paid its
way," as Sir Geoffrey said. It was performed for a hundred and twenty
times in England, and for three weeks in America, where it failed
lamentably. "I never did think much of a republic!" Gilbert said when he
heard of the play's failure.
Roger and Rachel had settled in their house in Hampstead soon after
Gilbert and Henry had taken the furnished flat, and after a while, some
of the old routine of their lives, except that part of it represented by
Ninian, went on as before. Most of Ninian's leave was spent in quelling
his mother's alarms about his journey to South America. "It's a splendid
chance for me, mother!" he insisted. "It's jolly decent of old Hare to
give it to me!"
"But it's so far away, Ninian, dear, and if anything were to happen to
you!..."
"Nothing'll happen to me, mother ... nothing serious anyhow. Heaps of
chaps go off to places like that without turning a hair!"
"But I've only got you, Ninian!" Mrs. Graham objected.
"You've got Mary, too, and I shall come back to you!"
One evening, as they walked along the road that leads to Sidmouth, she
put her arm in his, and drew him near to her.
"Ninian, dear," she said very softly and hesitatingly as if she were
afraid to say all that was in her mind.
"Yes, mother!"
"Ninian, I sometimes wish ..."