CHAPTER I

otellme,Mr.Denham,areyouanadmirerofRuskin?Someone,theotherday,saidtome,‘Oh,no,wedon’treadRuskin,Mrs.Hilbery.’Whatdoyouread,Iwonder?—foryoucan’tspendallyourtimegoingupinaeroplanesandburrowingintothebowelsoftheearth.” ShelookedbenevolentlyatDenham,whosaidnothingarticulate,andthenatKatharine,whosmiledbutsaidnothingeither,uponwhichMrs.Hilberyseemedpossessedbyabrilliantidea,andexclaimed: “I’msureMr.Denhamwouldliketoseeourthings,Katharine.I’msurehe’snotlikethatdreadfulyoungman,Mr.Ponting,whotoldmethatheconsidereditourdutytoliveexclusivelyinthepresent.Afterall,whatISthepresent?Halfofit’sthepast,andthebetterhalf,too,Ishouldsay,”sheadded,turningtoMr.Fortescue. Denhamrose,halfmeaningtogo,andthinkingthathehadseenallthattherewastosee,butKatharineroseatthesamemoment,andsaying,“Perhapsyouwouldliketoseethepictures,”ledthewayacrossthedrawing-roomtoasmallerroomopeningoutofit. Thesmallerroomwassomethinglikeachapelinacathedral,oragrottoinacave,fortheboomingsoundofthetrafficinthedistancesuggestedthesoftsurgeofwaters,andtheovalmirrors,withtheirsilversurface,werelikedeeppoolstremblingbeneathstarlight.Butthecomparisontoareligioustempleofsomekindwasthemoreaptofthetwo,forthelittleroomwascrowdedwithrelics. AsKatharinetoucheddifferentspots,lightsspranghereandthere,andrevealedasquaremassofred-and-goldbooks,andthenalongskirtinblue-and-whitepaintlustrousbehindglass,andthenamahoganywriting-table,withitsorderlyequipment,and,finally,apictureabovethetable,towhichspecialilluminationwasaccorded.WhenKatharinehadtouchedtheselastlights,shestoodback,asmuchastosay,“There!”Denhamfoundhimselflookeddownuponbytheeyesofthegreatpoet,RichardAlardyce,andsufferedalittleshockwhichwouldhaveledhim,hadhebeenwearingahat,toremoveit.Theeyeslookedathimoutofthemellowpinksandyellowsofthepaintwithdivinefriendliness,whichembracedhim,andpassedontocontemplatetheentireworld.Thepainthadsofadedthatverylittlebutthebeautifullargeeyeswereleft,darkinthesurroundingdimness. Katharinewaitedasthoughforhimtoreceiveafullimpression,andthenshesaid: “Thisishiswriting-table.Heusedthispen,”andsheliftedaquillpenandlaiditdownagain.Thewriting-tablewassplashedwitholdink,andthependisheveledinservice.Therelaythegiganticgold-rimmedspectacles,readytohishand,andbeneaththetablewasapairoflarge,wornslippers,oneofwhichKatharinepickedup,remarking: “Ithinkmygrandfathermusthavebeenatleasttwiceaslargeasanyoneisnowadays.This,”shewenton,asifsheknewwhatshehadtosaybyheart,“istheoriginalmanuscriptofthe‘OdetoWinter.’Theearlypoemsarefarlesscorrectedthanthelater.Wouldyouliketolookatit?” WhileMr.Denhamexaminedthemanuscript,sheglancedupathergrandfather,and,forthethousandthtime,fellintoapleasantdreamystateinwhichsheseemedtobethecompanionofthosegiantmen,oftheirownlineage,atanyrate,andtheinsignificantpresentmomentwasputtoshame.Thatmagnificentghostlyheadonthecanvas,surely,neverbeheldallthetrivialitiesofaSundayafternoon,anditdidnotseemtomatterwhatsheandthisyoungmansaidtoeachother,fortheywereonlysmallpeople. “Thisisacopyofthefirsteditionofthepoems,”shecontinued,withoutconsideringthefactthatMr.Denhamwasstilloccupiedwiththemanuscript,“whichcontainsseveralpoemsthathavenotbeenreprinted,aswellascorrections.”Shepausedforaminute,andthenwenton,asifthesespaceshadallbeencalculated. “Thatladyinblueismygreat-grandmother,byMillington.Hereismyuncle’swalking-stick—hewasSirRichardWarburton,youknow,androdewithHavelocktotheReliefofLucknow.Andthen,letmesee—oh,that’stheoriginalAlardyce,1697,thefounderofthefamilyfortunes,withhiswife.Someonegaveusthisbowltheotherdaybecauseithastheircrestandinitials.Wethinkitmusthavebeengiventhemtocelebratetheirsilverwedding-day.” Hereshestoppedforamoment,wonderingwhyitwasthatMr.Denhamsaidnothing.Herfeelingthathewasantagonistictoher,whichhadlapsedwhileshethoughtofherfamilypossessions,returnedsokeenlythatshestoppedinthemiddleofhercatalogandlookedathim.Hermother,wishingtoconnecthimreputablywiththegreatdead,hadcomparedhimwithMr.RuskinandthecomparisonwasinKatharine’smind,andledhertobemorecriticaloftheyoungmanthanwasfair,forayoungmanpayingacallinatail-coatisinadifferentelementaltogetherfromaheadseizedatitsclimaxofexpressiveness,gazingimmutablyfrombehindasheetofglass,whichwasallthatremainedtoherofMr.Ruskin.Hehadasingularface—afacebuiltforswiftnessanddecisionratherthanformassivecontemplationtheforeheadbroad,thenoselongandformidable,thelipsclean-shavenandatoncedoggedandsensitive,thecheekslean,withadeeplyrunningtideofredbloodinthem.Hiseyes,expressivenow