CHAPTER XVI

sonlythinkinghowtangledthingsare.It’sourfaultmostly—neitheryoursnorhis.” “Nothis?” “No.” “MissSchlegel,youaretookind.” “Yes,indeed,”noddedEvie,alittlecontemptuously. “Youbehavemuchtoowelltopeople,andthentheyimposeonyou.Iknowtheworldandthattypeofman,andassoonasIenteredtheroomIsawyouhadnotbeentreatinghimproperly.Youmustkeepthattypeatadistance.Otherwisetheyforgetthemselves.Sad,buttrue.Theyaren’toursort,andonemustfacethefact.” “Ye—es.” “Doadmitthatweshouldneverhavehadtheoutburstifhewasagentleman.” “Iadmititwillingly,”saidMargaret,whowaspacingupanddowntheroom.“Agentlemanwouldhavekepthissuspicionstohimself.” Mr.Wilcoxwatchedherwithavagueuneasiness. “Whatdidhesuspectyouof?” “Ofwantingtomakemoneyoutofhim.” “Intolerablebrute!Buthowwereyoutobenefit?” “Exactly.Howindeed!Justhorrible,corrodingsuspicion.Onetouchofthoughtorofgoodwillwouldhavebrusheditaway.Justthesenselessfearthatdoesmakemenintolerablebrutes.” “Icomebacktomyoriginalpoint.Yououghttobemorecareful,MissSchlegel.Yourservantsoughttohaveordersnottoletsuchpeoplein.” Sheturnedtohimfrankly.“Letmeexplainexactlywhywelikethisman,andwanttoseehimagain.” “That’syourcleverwayoftalking.Ishallneverbelieveyoulikehim.” “Ido.Firstly,becausehecaresforphysicaladventure,justasyoudo.Yes,yougomotoringandshootinghewouldliketogocampingout.Secondly,hecaresforsomethingspecialINadventure.Itisquickesttocallthatspecialsomethingpoetry—” “Oh,he’soneofthatwritersort.” “No—ohno!Imeanhemaybe,butitwouldbeloathsomestuff.Hisbrainisfilledwiththehusksofbooks,culture—horriblewewanthimtowashouthisbrainandgototherealthing.Wewanttoshowhimhowhemaygetupsideswithlife.AsIsaid,eitherfriendsorthecountry,some”—shehesitated—“eithersomeverydearpersonorsomeverydearplaceseemsnecessarytorelievelife’sdailygrey,andtoshowthatitisgrey.Ifpossible,oneshouldhaveboth.” SomeofherwordsranpastMr.Wilcox.Heletthemrunpast.Othershecaughtandcriticisedwithadmirablelucidity. “Yourmistakeisthis,anditisaverycommonmistake.Thisyoungbounderhasalifeofhisown.Whatrighthaveyoutoconcludeitisanunsuccessfullife,or,asyoucallit,‘grey’?” “Because—” “Oneminute.Youknownothingabouthim.Heprobablyhashisownjoysandinterests—wife,children,snuglittlehome.That’swherewepracticalfellows”hesmiled—“aremoretolerantthanyouintellectuals.Weliveandletlive,andassumethatthingsarejoggingonfairlywellelsewhere,andthattheordinaryplainmanmaybetrustedtolookafterhisownaffairs.Iquitegrant—Ilookatthefacesoftheclerksinmyownoffice,andobservethemtobedull,butIdon’tknowwhat’sgoingonbeneath.So,bytheway,withLondon.IhaveheardyourailagainstLondon,MissSchlegel,anditseemsafunnythingtosaybutIwasveryangrywithyou.WhatdoyouknowaboutLondon?Youonlyseecivilisationfromtheoutside.Idon’tsayinyourcase,butintoomanycasesthatattitudeleadstomorbidity,discontent,andSocialism.” Sheadmittedthestrengthofhisposition,thoughitunderminedimagination.Ashespoke,someoutpostsofpoetryandperhapsofsympathyfellruining,andsheretreatedtowhatshecalledher“secondline”—tothespecialfactsofthecase. “Hiswifeisanoldbore,”shesaidsimply.“HenevercamehomelastSaturdaynightbecausehewantedtobealone,andshethoughthewaswithus.” “WithYOU?” “Yes.”Evietittered.“Hehasn’tgotthecosyhomethatyouassumed.Heneedsoutsideinterests.” “Naughtyyoungman!”criedthegirl. “Naughty?”saidMargaret,whohatednaughtinessmorethansin.“Whenyou’remarriedMissWilcox,won’tyouwantoutsideinterests?” “Hehasapparentlygotthem,”putinMr.Wilc