CHAPTER II
關燈
小
中
大
ilised?”queriedMrs.Munt,fearingthatshewaslosingthepointofsomebrilliantremark.
“Oh,Iusedanaffectedword.IonlymeantwouldyoupleasetalkthethingoveronlywithHelen.”
“OnlywithHelen.”
“Because—”Butitwasnomomenttoexpoundthepersonalnatureoflove.EvenMargaretshrankfromit,andcontentedherselfwithstrokinghergoodaunt’shand,andwithmeditating,halfsensiblyandhalfpoetically,onthejourneythatwasabouttobeginfromKing’sCross.
Likemanyotherswhohavelivedlonginagreatcapital,shehadstrongfeelingsaboutthevariousrailwaytermini.Theyareourgatestothegloriousandtheunknown.Throughthemwepassoutintoadventureandsunshine,tothem,alas!wereturn.InPaddingtonallCornwallislatentandtheremoterwestdowntheinclinesofLiverpoolStreetliefenlandsandtheillimitableBroadsScotlandisthroughthepylonsofEustonWessexbehindthepoisedchaosofWaterloo.Italiansrealisethis,asisnaturalthoseofthemwhoaresounfortunateastoserveaswaitersinBerlincalltheAnhaltBahnhoftheStazioned’Italia,becausebyittheymustreturntotheirhomes.AndheisachillyLondonerwhodoesnotendowhisstationswithsomepersonality,andextendtothem,howevershyly,theemotionsoffearandlove.
ToMargaret—Ihopethatitwillnotsetthereaderagainsther—thestationofKing’sCrosshadalwayssuggestedInfinity.Itsverysituation—withdrawnalittlebehindthefacilesplendoursofSt.Pancras—impliedacommentonthematerialismoflife.Thosetwogreatarches,colourless,indifferent,shoulderingbetweenthemanunlovelyclock,werefitportalsforsomeeternaladventure,whoseissuemightbeprosperous,butwouldcertainlynotbeexpressedintheordinarylanguageofprosperity.Ifyouthinkthisridiculous,rememberthatitisnotMargaretwhoistellingyouaboutitandletmehastentoaddthattheywereinplentyoftimeforthetrainthatMrs.Munt,thoughshetookasecond-classticket,wasputbytheguardintoafirst(onlytwo“seconds”onthetrain,onesmokingandtheotherbabies—onecannotbeexpectedtotravelwithbabies)andthatMargaret,onherreturntoWickhamPlace,wasconfrontedwiththefollowingtelegram:
“Allover.WishIhadneverwritten.Tellnoone—,HELEN.”
ButAuntJuleywasgone—goneirrevocably,andnopoweronearthcouldstopher.
