There was no cessation of the music as the three entered. As it were
beneath the music, Mrs Orgreave, a stout and faded calm lady, greeted
him kindly: "Mr Edwin!" She was shorter than Janet, but Edwin could
see Janet in her movements and in her full lips. "Well, Edwin!" said
Osmond Orgreave with lazy and distinguished good-nature, shaking hands.
Jimmie and Johnnie, now aged nineteen and eighteen respectively, were in
the room; Johnnie was reading; their blushing awkwardness in salutation
and comic efforts to be curtly benevolent in the manner of clubmen
somewhat eased the tension in Edwin. They addressed him as
`Clayhanger.' The eldest and the youngest child of the family sat at
the piano in the act of performing a duet. Tom, pale, slight,
near-sighted and wearing spectacles, had reached the age of thirty-two,
and was junior partner in a firm of solicitors at Hanbridge; Bursley
seldom saw him. Alicia had the delightful gawkiness of twelve years.
One only of the seven children was missing. Marian, aged thirty, and
married in London, with two little babies; Marian was adored by all her
brothers and sisters, and most by Janet, who, during visits of the
married sister, fell back with worshipping joy into her original
situation of second daughter.
Edwin, Charles, and Janet sat down on a sofa. It was not until after a
moment that Edwin noticed an ugly young woman who sat behind the players
and turned over the pages of music for them. "Surely that can't be his
wonderful Hilda!" Edwin thought. In the excitement of arrival he had
forgotten the advertised Hilda. Was that she? The girl could be no
other. Edwin made the reflection that all men make: "Well, it's
astonishing what other fellows like!" And, having put down Charlie
several points in his esteem, he forgot Hilda.
Evidently loud and sustained conversation was not expected nor desired
while the music lasted. And Edwin was glad of this. It enabled him to
get his breath and his bearings in what was to him really a tremendous
ordeal. And in fact he was much more agitated than even he imagined.
The room itself abashed him.
Everybody, including Mr Orgreave, had said that the Clayhanger
drawing-room with its bay-window was a fine apartment. But the Orgreave
drawing-room had a bay-window and another large window; it was twice as
big as the Clayhangers' and of an interesting irregular shape. Although
there were in it two unoccupied expanses of carpet, it nevertheless
contained what seemed to Edwin immense quantities of furniture of all
sorts. Easy-chairs were common, and everywhere. Several bookcases rose
to the low ceiling; dozens and dozens of pictures hid the walls; each
corner had its little society of objects; cushions and candlesticks
abounded; the piano was a grand, and Edwin was astounded to see another
piano, a small upright, in the farther distance; there were even two
fireplaces, with two mirrors, two clocks, two sets of ornaments, and two
embroidered screens. The general effect was of extraordinary lavish
profusion--of wilful, splendid, careless extravagance.
Yet the arm of the sofa on which Edwin leaned was threadbare in two
different places. The room was faded and worn, like its mistress. Like
its mistress it seemed to exhale a silent and calm authority, based on
historic tradition.
And the room was historic; it had been the theatre of history. For
twenty-five years--ever since Tom was seven--it had witnessed the
adventurous domestic career of the Orgreaves, so quiet superficially, so
exciting in reality. It was the drawing-room of a man who had
consistently used immense powers of industry for the satisfaction of his
prodigal instincts; it was the drawing-room of a woman whose placidity
no danger could disturb, and who cared for nothing if only her husband
was amused. Spend and gain! And, for a change, gain and spend! That
was the method. Work till sheer exhaustion beat you. Plan, scheme,
devise! Satisfy your curiosity and your other instincts! Experiment!
Accept risks! Buy first, order first, pledge yourself first; and then
split your head in order to pay and to redeem! When chance aids you to
accumulate, let the pile grow, out of mere perversity, and then scatter
it royally! Play heartily! Play with the same intentness as you work!
Live to the uttermost instant and to the last flicker of energy! Such
was the spirit of Osmond Orgreave, and the spirit which reigned in the
house generally, if not in every room of the house.
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