CHAPTER XXXVII
關燈
小
中
大
,shelostherinclinationtofly.Sheremainedinthehall,goingfrombookcasetotable.ShegrewmoreliketheoldHelen,irresponsibleandcharming.
“ThisISMr.Wilcox’shouse?”sheinquired.
“SurelyyourememberHowardsEnd?”
“Remember?Iwhoremembereverything!Butitlookstobeoursnow.”
“MissAverywasextraordinary,”saidMargaret,herownspiritslighteningalittle.Againshewasinvadedbyaslightfeelingofdisloyalty.Butitbroughtherrelief,andsheyieldedtoit.“ShelovedMrs.Wilcox,andwouldratherfurnishherhomewithourthingsthanthinkofitempty.Inconsequencehereareallthelibrarybooks.”
“Notallthebooks.Shehasn’tunpackedtheArtbooks,inwhichshemayshowhersense.Andweneverusedtohavetheswordhere.”
“Theswordlookswell,though.”
“Magnificent.”
“Yes,doesn’tit?”
“Where’sthepiano,Meg?”
“IwarehousedthatinLondon.Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Curious,too,thatthecarpetfits.”
“Thecarpet’samistake,”announcedHelen.“IknowthatwehaditinLondon,butthisflooroughttobebare.Itisfartoobeautiful.”
“Youstillhaveamaniaforunder-furnishing.Wouldyoucaretocomeintothedining-roombeforeyoustart?There’snocarpetthere.”
Theywentin,andeachminutetheirtalkbecamemorenatural.
“Oh,WHATaplaceformother’schiffonier!”criedHelen.
“Lookatthechairs,though.”
“Oh,lookatthem!WickhamPlacefacednorth,didn’tit?”
“North-west.”
“Anyhow,itisthirtyyearssinceanyofthosechairshavefeltthesun.Feel.Theirdearlittlebacksarequitewarm.”
“ButwhyhasMissAverymadethemsettopartners?Ishalljust—”
“Overhere,Meg.Putitsothatanyonesittingwillseethelawn.”
Margaretmovedachair.Helensatdowninit.
“Ye—es.Thewindow’stoohigh.”
“Tryadrawing-roomchair.”
“No,Idon’tlikethedrawing-roomsomuch.Thebeamhasbeenmatch-boarded.Itwouldhavebeensobeautifulotherwise.”
“Helen,whatamemoryyouhaveforsomethings!You’reperfectlyright.It’saroomthatmenhavespoiltthroughtryingtomakeitniceforwomen.Mendon’tknowwhatwewant—”
“Andneverwill.”
“Idon’tagree.Intwothousandyearsthey’llknow.LookwhereTibbyspiltthesoup.”
“Coffee.Itwascoffeesurely.”
Helenshookherhead.“Impossible.Tibbywasfartooyoungtobegivencoffeeatthattime.”
“Wasfatheralive?”
“Yes.”
“Thenyou’rerightanditmusthavebeensoup.Iwasthinkingofmuchlater—thatunsuccessfulvisitofAuntJuley’s,whenshedidn’trealisethatTibbyhadgrownup.Itwascoffeethen,forhethrewitdownonpurpose.Therewassomerhyme,‘Tea,coffee—coffeetea,’thatshesaidtohimeverymorningatbreakfast.Waitaminute—howdiditgo?”
“Iknow—no,Idon’t.WhatadetestableboyTibbywas!”
“Buttherhymewassimplyawful.Nodecentpersoncouldputupwithit.”
“Ah,thatgreengage-tree,”criedHelen,asifthegardenwasalsopartoftheirchildhood.“WhydoIconnectitwithdumb-bells?Andtherecomethechickens.Thegrasswantscutting.Iloveyellow-hammers.”
Margaretinterruptedher.“Ihavegotit,”sheannounced.
“‘Tea,tea,coffee,tea,
Orchocolaritee.’
“Thateverymorningforthreeweeks.NowonderTibbywaswild.”
“Tibbyismoderatelyadearnow,”saidHelen.
“There!Iknewyou’dsaythatintheend.Ofcoursehe’sadear.”
Abellrang
