CHAPTER XIX

gandyours.Yourswasromanceminewillbeprose.I’mnotrunningitdown—averygoodkindofprose,butwellconsidered,wellthoughtout.Forinstance,IknowallMr.Wilcox’sfaults.He’safraidofemotion.Hecarestoomuchaboutsuccess,toolittleaboutthepast.Hissympathylackspoetry,andsoisn’tsympathyreally.I’devensay”—shelookedattheshininglagoons—“that,spiritually,he’snotashonestasIam.Doesn’tthatsatisfyyou?” “No,itdoesn’t,”saidHelen.“Itmakesmefeelworseandworse.Youmustbemad.” Margaretmadeamovementofirritation. “Idon’tintendhim,oranymanoranywoman,tobeallmylife—goodheavens,no!Thereareheapsofthingsinmethathedoesn’t,andshallnever,understand.” Thusshespokebeforetheweddingceremonyandthephysicalunion,beforetheastonishingglassshadehadfallenthatinterposesbetweenmarriedcouplesandtheworld.Shewastokeepherindependencemorethandomostwomenasyet.Marriagewastoalterherfortunesratherthanhercharacter,andshewasnotfarwronginboastingthatsheunderstoodherfuturehusband.Yethedidalterhercharacter—alittle.Therewasanunforeseensurprise,acessationofthewindsandodoursoflife,asocialpressurethatwouldhaveherthinkconjugally. “Sowithhim,”shecontinued.“Thereareheapsofthingsinhim—moreespeciallythingsthathedoesthatwillalwaysbehiddenfromme.Hehasallthosepublicqualitieswhichyousodespiseandwhichenableallthis—”Shewavedherhandatthelandscape,whichconfirmedanything.“IfWilcoxeshadn’tworkedanddiedinEnglandforthousandsofyears,youandIcouldn’tsitherewithouthavingourthroatscut.Therewouldbenotrains,noshipstocarryusliterarypeopleaboutin,nofieldseven.Justsavagery.No—perhapsnoteventhat.Withouttheirspiritlifemightneverhavemovedoutofprotoplasm.MoreandmoredoIrefusetodrawmyincomeandsneeratthosewhoguaranteeit.Therearetimeswhenitseemstome—” “Andtome,andtoallwomen.SoonekissedPaul.” “That’sbrutal,”saidMargaret.“Mineisanabsolutelydifferentcase.I’vethoughtthingsout.” “Itmakesnodifferencethinkingthingsout.Theycometothesame.” “Rubbish!” Therewasalongsilence,duringwhichthetidereturnedintoPooleHarbour.“Onewouldlosesomething,”murmuredHelen,apparentlytoherself.Thewatercreptoverthemud-flatstowardsthegorseandtheblackenedheather.BrankseaIslandlostitsimmenseforeshores,andbecameasombreepisodeoftrees.FromewasforcedinwardtowardsDorchester,StouragainstWimborne,AvontowardsSalisbury,andovertheimmensedisplacementthesunpresided,leadingittotriumpherehesanktorest.Englandwasalive,throbbingthroughallherestuaries,cryingforjoythroughthemouthsofallhergulls,andthenorthwind,withcontrarymotion,blewstrongeragainstherrisingseas.Whatdiditmean?Forwhatendareherfaircomplexities,herchangesofsoil,hersinuouscoast?Doesshebelongtothosewhohavemouldedherandmadeherfearedbyotherlands,ortothosewhohaveaddednothingtoherpower,buthavesomehowseenher,seenthewholeislandatonce,lyingasajewelinasilversea,sailingasashipofsouls,withallthebraveworld’sfleetaccompanyinghertowardseternity?