CHAPTER III

d,adding:“ItisjustwhatIshouldhavewished.” “Verygoodofyoutosayso,”hereplied,withaslightlookofsurprise,which,likemostslightlooks,escapedMrs.Munt’sattention.“Iwasjusttoolingmyfatherovertocatchthedowntrain.” “Yousee,weheardfromHelenthismorning.” YoungWilcoxwaspouringinpetrol,startinghisengine,andperformingotheractionswithwhichthisstoryhasnoconcern.Thegreatcarbegantorock,andtheformofMrs.Munt,tryingtoexplainthings,sprangagreeablyupanddownamongtheredcushions.“Thematerwillbeverygladtoseeyou,”hemumbled.“Hi!Isay.Parcel.ParcelforHowardsEnd.Bringitout.Hi!” Abeardedporteremergedwiththeparcelinonehandandanentrybookintheother.Withthegatheringwhirofthemotortheseejaculationsmingled:“Sign,mustI?Whythe—shouldIsignafterallthisbother?Notevengotapencilonyou?RemembernexttimeIreportyoutothestation-master.Mytime’sofvalue,thoughyoursmayn’tbe.Here”—herebeingatip. “Extremelysorry,Mrs.Munt.” “Notatall,Mr.Wilcox.” “Anddoyouobjecttogoingthroughthevillage?Itisratheralongerspin,butIhaveoneortwocommissions.” “Ishouldlovegoingthroughthevillage.NaturallyIamveryanxioustotalkthingsoverwithyou.” Asshesaidthisshefeltashamed,forshewasdisobeyingMargaret’sinstructions.Onlydisobeyingthemintheletter,surely.Margarethadonlywarnedheragainstdiscussingtheincidentwithoutsiders.Surelyitwasnot“uncivilisedorwrong”todiscussitwiththeyoungmanhimself,sincechancehadthrownthemtogether. Areticentfellow,hemadenoreply.Mountingbyherside,heputonglovesandspectacles,andofftheydrove,thebeardedporter—lifeisamysteriousbusiness—lookingafterthemwithadmiration. Thewindwasintheirfacesdownthestationroad,blowingthedustintoMrs.Munt’seyes.ButassoonastheyturnedintotheGreatNorthRoadsheopenedfire.“Youcanwellimagine,”shesaid,“thatthenewswasagreatshocktous.” “Whatnews?” “Mr.Wilcox,”shesaidfrankly,“Margarethastoldmeeverything—everything.IhaveseenHelen’sletter.” Hecouldnotlookherintheface,ashiseyeswerefixedonhisworkhewastravellingasquicklyashedareddowntheHighStreet.Butheinclinedhisheadinherdirection,andsaid:“IbegyourpardonIdidn’tcatch.” “AboutHelen.Helen,ofcourse.Helenisaveryexceptionalperson—Iamsureyouwillletmesaythis,feelingtowardsherasyoudo—indeed,alltheSchlegelsareexceptional.Icomeinnospiritofinterference,butitwasagreatshock.” Theydrewupoppositeadraper’s.Withoutreplying,heturnedroundinhisseat,andcontemplatedthecloudofdustthattheyhadraisedintheirpassagethroughthevillage.Itwassettlingagain,butnotallintotheroadfromwhichhehadtakenit.Someofithadpercolatedthroughtheopenwindows,somehadwhitenedtherosesandgooseberriesofthewaysidegardens,whileacertainproportionhadenteredthelungsofthevillagers.“Iwonderwhenthey’lllearnwisdomandtartheroads,”washiscomment.Thenamanranoutofthedraper’switharollofoilcloth,andofftheywentagain. “Margaretcouldnotcomeherself,onaccountofpoorTibby,soIamheretorepresentherandtohaveagoodtalk.” “I’msorrytobesodense,”saidtheyoungman,againdrawingupoutsideashop.“ButIstillhaven’tquiteunderstood.” “Helen,Mr.Wilcox—myniecean