CHAPTER I

oddedtowardstheotherroom,wheretheycouldhearburstsofcultivatedlaughter—“musttakeupalotoftime.” Shelookedathimexpectantly,asifbetweenthemtheyweredecoratingasmallfigureofherself,andshesawhimhesitatinginthedispositionofsomeboworsash. “You’vegotitverynearlyright,”shesaid,“butIonlyhelpmymother.Idon’twritemyself.” “Doyoudoanythingyourself?”hedemanded. “Whatdoyoumean?”sheasked.“Idon’tleavethehouseattenandcomebackatsix.” “Idon’tmeanthat.” Mr.Denhamhadrecoveredhisself-controlhespokewithaquietnesswhichmadeKatharineratheranxiousthatheshouldexplainhimself,butatthesametimeshewishedtoannoyhim,towafthimawayfromheronsomelightcurrentofridiculeorsatire,asshewaswonttodowiththeseintermittentyoungmenofherfather’s. “Nobodyeverdoesdoanythingworthdoingnowadays,”sheremarked.“Yousee”—shetappedthevolumeofhergrandfather’spoems—“wedon’tevenprintaswellastheydid,andasforpoetsorpaintersornovelists—therearenoneso,atanyrate,I’mnotsingular.” “No,wehaven’tanygreatmen,”Denhamreplied.“I’mverygladthatwehaven’t.Ihategreatmen.Theworshipofgreatnessinthenineteenthcenturyseemstometoexplaintheworthlessnessofthatgeneration.” Katharineopenedherlipsanddrewinherbreath,asiftoreplywithequalvigor,whentheshuttingofadoorinthenextroomwithdrewherattention,andtheybothbecameconsciousthatthevoices,whichhadbeenrisingandfallingroundthetea-table,hadfallensilentthelight,even,seemedtohavesunklower.AmomentlaterMrs.Hilberyappearedinthedoorwayoftheante-room.Shestoodlookingatthemwithasmileofexpectancyonherface,asifascenefromthedramaoftheyoungergenerationwerebeingplayedforherbenefit.Shewasaremarkable-lookingwoman,welladvancedinthesixties,butowingtothelightnessofherframeandthebrightnessofhereyessheseemedtohavebeenwaftedoverthesurfaceoftheyearswithouttakingmuchharminthepassage.Herfacewasshrunkenandaquiline,butanyhintofsharpnesswasdispelledbythelargeblueeyes,atoncesagaciousandinnocent,whichseemedtoregardtheworldwithanenormousdesirethatitshouldbehaveitselfnobly,andanentireconfidencethatitcoulddoso,ifitwouldonlytakethepains. Certainlinesonthebroadforeheadandaboutthelipsmightbetakentosuggestthatshehadknownmomentsofsomedifficultyandperplexityinthecourseofhercareer,butthesehadnotdestroyedhertrustfulness,andshewasclearlystillpreparedtogiveeveryoneanynumberoffreshchancesandthewholesystemthebenefitofthedoubt.Sheworeagreatresemblancetoherfather,andsuggested,ashedid,thefreshairsandopenspacesofayoungerworld. “Well,”shesaid,“howdoyoulikeourthings,Mr.Denham?” Mr.Denhamrose,puthisbookdown,openedhismouth,butsaidnothing,asKatharineobserved,withsomeamusement. Mrs.Hilberyhandledthebookhehadlaiddown. “Therearesomebooksthatlive,”shemused.“Theyareyoungwithus,andtheygrowoldwithus.Areyoufondofpoetry,Mr.Denham?Butwhatanabsurdquestiontoask!Thetruthis,dearMr.Fortescuehasalmosttiredmeout.Heissoeloquentandsowitty,sosearchingandsoprofoundthat,afterhalfanhourorso,Ifeelinclinedtoturnoutallthelights.Butperhapshe’dbemorewonderfulthaneverinthedark.Whatd’youthink,Katharine?Shallwegivealittlepartyincompletedarkness?There’dhavetobebrightroomsforthebores....” HereMr.Denhamheldouthishand. “Butwe’veanynumberofthingstoshowyou!”Mrs.Hilberyexclaimed,takingnonoticeofit.“Books,pictures,china,manuscripts,andtheverychairthatMaryQueenofScotssatinwhensheheardofDarnley’smurder.Imustliedownforalittle,andKatharinemustchangeherdress(thoughshe’swearingaveryprettyone),butifyoudon’tmindbeingleftalone,supperwillbeateight.Idaresayyou’llwriteapoemofyourownwhileyou’rewaiting.Ah,howIlovethefirelight!Doesn’tourroomlookcharming?” Shesteppedbackandbadethemcontemplatetheemptydrawing-room,withitsrich,irregularlights,astheflamesleaptandwavered. “Dearthings!”sheexclaimed.“Dearchairsandtables!Howlikeoldfriendstheyare—faithful,silentfriends.Whichremindsme,Katharine,littleMr.Anningiscomingto-night,andTiteStreet,andCadoganSquare....Doremembertogetthatdrawingofyourgreat-uncleglazed.AuntMillicentremarkeditlasttimeshewashere,andIknowhowitwouldhurtmetoseemyfatherinabrokenglass.” Itwasliketearingthroughamazeofdiamond-glitteringspiders’webstosaygood-byeandescape,forateachmovementMrs.Hilberyrememberedsomethingfurtheraboutthevillainiesofpicture-framersorthedelightsofpoetry,andatonetimeitseemedtotheyoungmanthathewouldbehypnotizedintodoingwhatshepretendedtowanthimtodo,forhecouldnotsupposethatsheattachedanyvaluewhatevertohispresence.Katharine,however,madeanopportunityforhimtoleave,andforthathewasgratefultoher,asoneyoungpersonisgratefulfortheunderstandingofanother.