CHAPTER XVIII

e.Buttheatmospherewassochargedwithemotionthatpeopleonlyseemedtoexistonheraccount,andshewassurprisedthatCranedidnotrealisethis,andturnround.Idiotthoughshemightbe,surelyMr.Wilcoxwasmore—howshouldoneputit?—morepsychologicalthanusual.Alwaysagoodjudgeofcharacterforbusinesspurposes,heseemedthisafternoontoenlargehisfield,andtonotequalitiesoutsideneatness,obedience,anddecision. “Iwanttogooverthewholehouse,”sheannouncedwhentheyarrived.“AssoonasIgetbacktoSwanage,whichwillbeto-morrowafternoon,I’lltalkitoveroncemorewithHelenandTibby,andwireyou‘yes’or‘no.’” “Right.Thedining-room.”Andtheybegantheirsurvey. Thedining-roomwasbig,butover-furnished.Chelseawouldhavemoanedaloud.Mr.Wilcoxhadeschewedthosedecorativeschemesthatwince,andrelent,andrefrain,andachievebeautybysacrificingcomfortandpluck.Aftersomuchself-colourandself-denial,Margaretviewedwithreliefthesumptuousdado,thefrieze,thegildedwall-paper,amidwhosefoliageparrotssang.Itwouldneverdowithherownfurniture,butthoseheavychairs,thatimmensesideboardloadedwithpresentationplate,stoodupagainstitspressurelikemen.Theroomsuggestedmen,andMargaret,keentoderivethemoderncapitalistfromthewarriorsandhuntersofthepast,sawitasanancientguest-hall,wherethelordsatatmeatamonghisthanes.EventheBible—theDutchBiblethatCharleshadbroughtbackfromtheBoerWar—fellintoposition.Sucharoomadmittedloot. “Nowtheentrance-hall.” Theentrance-hallwaspaved. “Herewefellowssmoke.” Wefellowssmokedinchairsofmaroonleather.Itwasasifamotor-carhadspawned.“Oh,jolly!”saidMargaret,sinkingintooneofthem. “Youdolikeit?”hesaid,fixinghiseyesonherupturnedface,andsurelybetrayinganalmostintimatenote.“It’sallrubbishnotmakingoneselfcomfortable.Isn’tit?” “Ye—es.Semi-rubbish.ArethoseCruikshanks?” “Gillrays.Shallwegoonupstairs?” “DoesallthisfurniturecomefromHowardsEnd?” “TheHowardsEndfurniturehasallgonetoOniton.” “Does—However,I’mconcernedwiththehouse,notthefurniture.Howbigisthissmoking-room?” “Thirtybyfifteen.No,waitaminute.Fifteenandahalf.” “Ah,well.Mr.Wilcox,aren’tyoueveramusedatthesolemnitywithwhichwemiddleclassesapproachthesubjectofhouses?” Theyproceededtothedrawing-room.Chelseamanagedbetterhere.Itwassallowandineffective.Onecouldvisualisetheladieswithdrawingtoit,whiletheirlordsdiscussedlife’srealitiesbelow,totheaccompanimentofcigars.HadMrs.Wilcox’sdrawing-roomatHowardsEndlookedthus?JustasthisthoughtenteredMargaret’sbrain,Mr.Wilcoxdidaskhertobehiswife,andtheknowledgethatshehadbeenrightsoovercameherthatshenearlyfainted. Buttheproposalwasnottorankamongtheworld’sgreatlovescenes. “MissSchlegel”—hisvoicewasfirm—“Ihavehadyouuponfalsepretences.Iwanttospeakaboutamuchmoreseriousmatterthanahouse.” Margaretalmostanswered:“Iknow—” “Couldyoubeinducedtosharemy—isitprobable—” “Oh,Mr.Wilcox!”sheinterrupted,takingholdofthepianoandavertinghereyes.“Isee,Isee.IwillwritetoyouafterwardsifImay.” Hebegantostammer.“MissSchlegel—Margaretyoudon’tunderstand.” “Ohyes!Indeed,yes!”saidMargaret. “Iamaskingyou