CHAPTER NINE

idMr.Sandershadsmashedthecoffee-potandhewasteachingMr.Sanders— Sureenough,thecoffee-potlaybrokenonthehearthrug. "AnydaythisweekexceptThursday,"wroteMissPerry,andthiswasnotthefirstinvitationbyanymeans.WereallMissPerry'sweeksblankwiththeexceptionofThursday,andwasheronlydesiretoseeheroldfriend'sson?Timeisissuedtospinsterladiesofwealthinlongwhiteribbons.Thesetheywindroundandround,roundandround,assistedbyfivefemaleservants,abutler,afineMexicanparrot,regularmeals,Mudie'slibrary,andfriendsdroppingin.AlittlehurtshewasalreadythatJacobhadnotcalled. "Yourmother,"shesaid,"isoneofmyoldestfriends." MissRosseter,whowassittingbythefire,holdingtheSpectatorbetweenhercheekandtheblaze,refusedtohaveafirescreen,butfinallyacceptedone.Theweatherwasthendiscussed,forindeferencetoParkes,whowasopeninglittletables,gravermatterswerepostponed.MissRosseterdrewJacob'sattentiontothebeautyofthecabinet. "Sowonderfullycleverinpickingthingsup,"shesaid.MissPerryhadfounditinYorkshire.TheNorthofEnglandwasdiscussed.WhenJacobspoketheybothlistened.MissPerrywasbethinkingherofsomethingsuitableandmanlytosaywhenthedooropenedandMr.Bensonwasannounced.Nowtherewerefourpeoplesittinginthatroom.MissPerryaged66MissRosseter42Mr.Benson38andJacob25. "Myoldfriendlooksaswellasever,"saidMr.Benson,tappingthebarsoftheparrot'scageMissRossetersimultaneouslypraisedtheteaJacobhandedthewrongplatesandMissPerrysignifiedherdesiretoapproachmoreclosely."Yourbrothers,"shebeganvaguely. "ArcherandJohn,"Jacobsuppliedher.ThentoherpleasuresherecoveredRebecca'snameandhowoneday"whenyouwerealllittleboys,playinginthedrawing-room—" "ButMissPerryhasthekettle-holder,"saidMissRosseter,andindeedMissPerrywasclaspingittoherbreast.(Hadshe,then,lovedJacob'sfather?) "Soclever"—"notsogoodasusual"—"Ithoughtitmostunfair,"saidMr.BensonandMissRosseter,discussingtheSaturdayWestminster.Didtheynotcompeteregularlyforprizes?HadnotMr.Bensonthreetimeswonaguinea,andMissRosseteroncetenandsixpence?OfcourseEverardBensonhadaweakheart,butstill,towinprizes,rememberparrots,toadyMissPerry,despiseMissRosseter,givetea-partiesinhisrooms(whichwereinthestyleofWhistler,withprettybooksontables),allthis,soJacobfeltwithoutknowinghim,madehimacontemptibleass.AsforMissRosseter,shehadnursedcancer,andnowpaintedwater-colours. "Runningawaysosoon?"saidMissPerryvaguely."Athomeeveryafternoon,ifyou'venothingbettertodo—exceptThursdays." "I'veneverknownyoudesertyouroldladiesonce,"MissRosseterwassaying,andMr.Bensonwasstoopingovertheparrot'scage,andMissPerrywasmovingtowardsthebell…. Thefireburntclearbetweentwopillarsofgreenishmarble,andonthemantelpiecetherewasagreenclockguardedbyBritannialeaningonherspear.Asforpictures—amaideninalargehatofferedrosesoverthegardengatetoagentlemanineighteenth-centurycostume.Amastifflayextendedagainstabattereddoor.Thelowerpanesofthewindowswereofgroundglass,andthecurtains,accuratelylooped,wereofplushandgreentoo. LauretteandJacobsatwiththeirtoesinthefendersidebyside,intwolargechairscoveredingreenplush.Laurette'sskirtswereshort,herlegslong,thin,andtransparentlycovered.Herfingersstrokedherankles. "It'snotexactlythatIdon'tunderstandthem,"shewassayingthoughtfully."Imustgoandtryagain." "Whattimewillyoubethere?"saidJacob. Sheshruggedhershoulders. "To-morrow?" No,notto-morrow. "Thisweathermakesmelongforthecountry,"shesaid,lookingoverhershoulderatthebackviewoftallhousesthroughthewindow. "Iwishyou'dbeenwithmeonSaturday,"saidJacob. "Iusedtoride,"shesaid.Shegotupgracefully,calmly.Jacobgotup.Shesmiledathim.Assheshutthedoorheputsomanyshillingsonthemantelpiece. Altogetheramostreasonableconversationamostrespectableroomanintelligentgirl.OnlyMadameherselfseeingJacobouthadaboutherthatleer,thatlewdness,thatquakeofthesurface(visibleintheeyeschiefly),whichthreatenstospillthewholebagofordure,withdifficultyheldtogether,overthepavement.Inshort,somethingwaswrong. Notsoverylongagotheworkmenhadgiltthefinal"y"inLordMacaulay'sname,andthenamesstretchedinunbrokenfileroundthedomeoftheBritishMuseum.Ataconsiderabledepthbeneath,manyhundredsofthelivingsatatthespokesofacart-wheelcopyingfromprintedbooksintomanuscriptbooksnowandthenrisingtoconsultthecatalogueregainingtheirplacesstealthily,whilefromtimetotimeasilentmanreplenishedtheircompartments. Therewasalittlecatastrophe.MissMarchmont'spileoverbalancedandfellintoJacob'scompartment.SuchthingshappenedtoMissMarchmont.Whatwassheseekingthroughmillionsofpages,inheroldplushdress,andherwigofclaret-colouredhair,withhergemsandherchilblains?Sometimesonething,sometimesanother,toconfirmherphilosophythatcolourissound—or,perhaps,ithassomethingtodowithmusic.Shecouldne