CHAPTER IV

Ataboutnineo’clockatnight,oneveryalternateWednesday,MissMaryDatchetmadethesameresolve,thatshewouldneveragainlendherroomsforanypurposeswhatsoever.Being,astheywere,ratherlargeandconvenientlysituatedinastreetmostlydedicatedtoofficesofftheStrand,peoplewhowishedtomeet,eitherforpurposesofenjoyment,ortodiscussart,ortoreformtheState,hadawayofsuggestingthatMaryhadbetterbeaskedtolendthemherrooms.Shealwaysmettherequestwiththesamefrownofwell-simulatedannoyance,whichpresentlydissolvedinakindofhalf-humorous,half-surlyshrug,asofalargedogtormentedbychildrenwhoshakeshisears.Shewouldlendherroom,butonlyonconditionthatallthearrangementsweremadebyher.Thisfortnightlymeetingofasocietyforthefreediscussionofeverythingentailedagreatdealofmoving,andpulling,andrangingoffurnitureagainstthewall,andplacingofbreakableandpreciousthingsinsafeplaces.MissDatchetwasquitecapableofliftingakitchentableonherback,ifneedwere,foralthoughwell-proportionedanddressedbecomingly,shehadtheappearanceofunusualstrengthanddetermination. Shewassometwenty-fiveyearsofage,butlookedolderbecausesheearned,orintendedtoearn,herownliving,andhadalreadylostthelookoftheirresponsiblespectator,andtakenonthatoftheprivateinthearmyofworkers.Hergesturesseemedtohaveacertainpurpose,themusclesroundeyesandlipsweresetratherfirmly,asthoughthesenseshadundergonesomediscipline,andwereheldreadyforacallonthem.Shehadcontractedtwofaintlinesbetweenhereyebrows,notfromanxietybutfromthought,anditwasquiteevidentthatallthefeminineinstinctsofpleasing,soothing,andcharmingwerecrossedbyothersinnowaypeculiartohersex.Fortherestshewasbrown-eyed,alittleclumsyinmovement,andsuggestedcountrybirthandadescentfromrespectablehard-workingancestors,whohadbeenmenoffaithandintegrityratherthandoubtersorfanatics. Attheendofafairlyhardday’sworkitwascertainlysomethingofanefforttoclearone’sroom,topullthemattressoffone’sbed,andlayitonthefloor,tofillapitcherwithcoldcoffee,andtosweepalongtableclearforplatesandcupsandsaucers,withpyramidsoflittlepinkbiscuitsbetweenthembutwhenthesealterationswereeffected,Maryfeltalightnessofspiritcometoher,asifshehadputoffthestoutstuffofherworkinghoursandslippedoverherentirebeingsomevestureofthin,brightsilk.Shekneltbeforethefireandlookedoutintotheroom.Thelightfellsoftly,butwithclearradiance,throughshadesofyellowandbluepaper,andtheroom,whichwassetwithoneortwosofasresemblinggrassymoundsintheirlackofshape,lookedunusuallylargeandquiet.MarywasledtothinkoftheheightsofaSussexdown,andtheswellinggreencircleofsomecampofancientwarriors.Themoonlightwouldbefallingtheresopeacefullynow,andshecouldfancytheroughpathwayofsilveruponthewrinkledskinofthesea. “Andhereweare,”shesaid,halfaloud,halfsatirically,yetwithevidentpride,“talkingaboutart.” Shepulledabasketcontainingballsofdifferentlycoloredwoolsandapairofstockingswhichneededdarningtowardsher,andbegantosetherfingerstoworkwhilehermind,reflectingthelassitudeofherbody,wentonperversely,conjuringupvisionsofsolitudeandquiet,andshepicturedherselflayingasideherknittingandwalkingoutontothedown,andhearingnothingbutthesheepcroppingthegrassclosetotheroots,whiletheshadowsofthelittletreesmovedveryslightlythiswayandthatinthemoonlight,asthebreezewentthroughthem.Butshewasperfectlyconsciousofherpresentsituation,andderivedsomepleasurefromthereflectionthatshecouldrejoiceequallyinsolitude,andinthepresenceofthemanyverydifferentpeoplewhowerenowmakingtheirway,bydiverspaths,acrossLondontothespotwhereshewassitting. Assheranherneedleinandoutofthewool,shethoughtofthevariousstagesinherownlifewhichmadeherpresentpositionseemtheculminationofsuccessivemiracles.Shethoughtofherclericalfatherinhiscountryparsonage,andofhermother’sdeath,andofherowndeterminationtoobtaineducation,andofhercollegelife,whichhadmerged,notsoverylongago,inthewonderfulmazeofLondon,whichstillseemedtoher,inspiteofherconstitutionallevel-headedness,likeavastelectriclight,castingradianceuponthemyriadsofmenandwomenwhocrowdedroundit.Andhereshewasattheverycenterofitall,thatcenterwhichwasconstantlyinthemindsofpeopleinremoteCanadianforestsandontheplainsofIndia,whentheirthoughtsturnedtoEngland.Theninemellowstrokes,bywhichshewasnowapprisedofthehour,wereamessagefromthegreatclockatWestminsteritself.Asthelastofthemdiedaway,therewasafirmknockingonherowndoor,andsheroseandopenedit.Shereturnedtotheroom,withalookofsteadypleasureinhereyes,andshewastalkingtoRalphDenham,whofollowedher. “Alone?”hesaid,asifhewerepleasantlysurprisedbythatfact. “Iamsometimesalone,”shereplied. “Butyouexpectagreatmanypeople,”headded,lookingroundhim.“It’slikearoomonthestage.Whoisitto-night?” “WilliamRodney,upontheElizabethanuseofmetaphor.Iexpectagoodsolidpaper,withplentyofquotationsfromtheclassics.” Ralphwarmedhishandsatthefire,whichwasflappingbravelyinthegrate,whileMarytookupherstockingagain. “IsupposeyouaretheonlywomaninLondonwhodarnsherownstockings,”heobserved. “I’monlyoneofagreatmanythousandsreally,”shereplied,“thoughImustadmitthatIwasthinkingmyselfveryremarkablewhenyoucamein.Andnowthatyou’rehereIdon’tthinkmyselfremarkableatall.Howhorridofyou!ButI’mafraidyou’remuchmoreremarkablethanIam.You’vedonemuchmorethanI’vedone.” “Ifthat’syourstandard,you’venothingtobeproudof,”saidRalphgrimly. “Well,ImustreflectwithEmer