CHAPTER XIV

“Oh,bother,nottosaydash—Ihadforgottenwewerediningoutbutdo,do,comeroundagainandhaveatalk.”“Yes,youmust—do,”echoedMargaret. Leonard,withextremesentiment,replied:“No,Ishallnot.It’sbetterlikethis.” “Whybetter?”askedMargaret. “No,itisbetternottoriskasecondinterview.Ishallalwayslookbackonthistalkwithyouasoneofthefinestthingsinmylife.Really.Imeanthis.Wecanneverrepeat.Ithasdonemerealgood,andtherewehadbetterleaveit.” “That’sratherasadviewoflife,surely.” “Thingssooftengetspoiled.” “Iknow,”flashedHelen,“butpeopledon’t.” Hecouldnotunderstandthis.Hecontinuedinaveinwhichmingledtrueimaginationandfalse.Whathesaidwasn’twrong,butitwasn’tright,andafalsenotejarred.Onelittletwist,theyfelt,andtheinstrumentmightbeintune.Onelittlestrain,anditmightbesilentforever.Hethankedtheladiesverymuch,buthewouldnotcallagain.Therewasamoment’sawkwardness,andthenHelensaid:“Go,thenperhapsyouknowbestbutneverforgetyou’rebetterthanJefferies.”Andhewent.Theirhansomcaughthimupatthecorner,passedwithawavingofhands,andvanishedwithitsaccomplishedloadintotheevening. Londonwasbeginningtoilluminateherselfagainstthenight.Electriclightssizzledandjaggedinthemainthoroughfares,gas-lampsinthesidestreetsglimmeredacanarygoldorgreen.Theskywasacrimsonbattlefieldofspring,butLondonwasnotafraid.Hersmokemitigatedthesplendour,andthecloudsdownOxfordStreetwereadelicatelypaintedceiling,whichadornedwhileitdidnotdistract.Shehadneverknowntheclear-cutarmiesofthepurerair.Leonardhurriedthroughhertintedwonders,verymuchpartofthepicture.Hiswasagreylife,andtobrightenithehadruledoffafewcornersforromance.TheMissSchlegels—or,tospeakmoreaccurately,hisinterviewwiththem—weretofillsuchacorner,norwasitbyanymeansthefirsttimethathehadtalkedintimatelytostrangers.Thehabitwasanalogoustoadebauch,anoutlet,thoughtheworstofoutlets,forinstinctsthatwouldnotbedenied.Terrifyinghim,itwouldbeatdownhissuspicionsandprudenceuntilhewasconfidingsecretstopeoplewhomhehadscarcelyseen.Itbroughthimmanyfearsandsomepleasantmemories.PerhapsthekeenesthappinesshehadeverknownwasduringarailwayjourneytoCambridge,whereadecent-manneredundergraduatehadspokentohim.Theyhadgotintoconversation,andgraduallyLeonardflungreticenceaside,toldsomeofhisdomestictroublesandhintedattherest.Theundergraduate,supposingtheycouldstartafriendship,askedhimto“coffeeafterhall,”whichheaccepted,butafterwardsgrewshy,andtookcarenottostirfromthecommercialhotelwherehelodged.HedidnotwantRomancetocollidewiththePorphyrion,stilllesswithJacky,andpeoplewithfuller,happierlivesareslowtounderstandthis.TotheSchlegels,astotheundergraduate,hewasaninterestingcreature,ofwhomtheywantedtoseemore.ButtheytohimweredenizensofRomance,whomustkeeptothecornerhehadassignedthem,picturesthatmustnotwalkoutoftheirframes. HisbehaviouroverMargaret’svisiting-cardhadbeentypical.Hishadscarcelybeenatragicmarriage.Wherethereisnomoneyandnoinclinationtoviolencetragedycannotbegenerated.Hecouldnotleavehiswife,andhedidnotwanttohither.Petulanceandsqualorwereenough.Here“thatcard”hadcomein.Leonard,thoughfurtive,wasuntidy,andleftitlyingabout.Jackyfoundit,andthenbegan,“What’sthatcard,eh?”“Yes,don’tyouwishyouknewwhatthatcardwas?”“Len,who’sMissSchlegel?”etc