CHAPTER XXXVII

“Wholiveshere,then?” “Noone.” “Isupposeyouarelettingit,though.” “Thehouseisdead,”saidMargaret,withafrown.“Whyworryonaboutit?” “ButIaminterested.YoutalkasifIhadlostallmyinterestinlife.IamstillHelen,Ihope.Nowthishasn’tthefeelofadeadhouse.Thehallseemsmorealiveeventhanintheolddays,whenitheldtheWilcoxes’ownthings.” “Interested,areyou?Verywell,Imusttellyou,Isuppose.Myhusbandlentitonconditionwe—butbyamistakeallourthingswereunpacked,andMissAvery,insteadof—”Shestopped.“Lookhere,Ican’tgoonlikethis.IwarnyouIwon’t.Helen,whyshouldyoubesomiserablyunkindtome,simplybecauseyouhateHenry?” “Idon’thatehimnow,”saidHelen.“Ihavestoppedbeingaschoolgirl,and,Meg,onceagain,I’mnotbeingunkind.ButasforfittinginwithyourEnglishlife—no,putitoutofyourheadatonce.ImagineavisitfrommeatDucieStreet!It’sunthinkable.” Margaretcouldnotcontradicther.Itwasappallingtoseeherquietlymovingforwardwithherplans,notbitterorexcitable,neitherassertinginnocencenorconfessingguilt,merelydesiringfreedomandthecompanyofthosewhowouldnotblameher.Shehadbeenthrough—howmuch?Margaretdidnotknow.Butitwasenoughtopartherfromoldhabitsaswellasoldfriends. “Tellmeaboutyourself,”saidHelen,whohadchosenherbooks,andwaslingeringoverthefurniture. “There’snothingtotell.” “Butyourmarriagehasbeenhappy,Meg?” “Yes,butIdon’tfeelinclinedtotalk.” “YoufeelasIdo.” “Notthat,butIcan’t.” “NomorecanI.Itisanuisance,butnogoodtrying.” Somethinghadcomebetweenthem.PerhapsitwasSociety,whichhenceforwardwouldexcludeHelen.Perhapsitwasathirdlife,alreadypotentasaspirit.Theycouldfindnomeeting-place.Bothsufferedacutely,andwerenotcomfortedbytheknowledgethataffectionsurvived. “Lookhere,Meg,isthecoastclear?” “Youmeanthatyouwanttogoawayfromme?” “Isupposeso—dearoldlady!itisn’tanyuse.Iknewweshouldhavenothingtosay.GivemylovetoAuntJuleyandTibby,andtakemoreyourselfthanIcansay.PromisetocomeandseemeinMunichlater.” “Certainly,dearest.” “Forthatisallwecando.” Itseemedso.MostghastlyofallwasHelen’scommonsenseMonicahadbeenextraordinarilygoodforher. “Iamgladtohaveseenyouandthethings.”Shelookedatthebookcaselovingly,asifshewassayingfarewelltothepast. Margaretunboltedthedoor.Sheremarked:“Thecarhasgone,andhere’syourcab.” Sheledthewaytoit,glancingattheleavesandthesky.Thespringhadneverseemedmorebeautiful.Thedriver,whowasleaningonthegate,calledout,“Please,lady,amessage,”andhandedherHenry’svisiting-cardthroughthebars. “Howdidthiscome?”sheasked. Cranehadreturnedwithitalmostatonce. Shereadthecardwithannoyance.ItwascoveredwithinstructionsindomesticFrench.WhensheandhersisterhadtalkedshewastocomebackforthenighttoDolly’s.“Ilfautdormirsurcesujet.”whileHelenwastobefoundunecomfortablechambreal’hotel.ThefinalsentencedispleasedhergreatlyuntilsherememberedthattheCharles’shadonlyonespareroom,andsocouldnotinviteathirdguest. “Henrywouldhavedonewhathecould,”sheinterpreted. Helenhadnotfollowedherintothegarden.Thedooronceopen