CHAPTER XI

whenIwaswritingthosescenes.Ikeptaskingmyself,‘NowisthisthesortofthingKatharinewouldlike?’IalwaysthinkofyouwhenI’mwriting,Katharine,evenwhenit’sthesortofthingyouwouldn’tknowabout.AndI’drather—yes,IreallybelieveI’drather—youthoughtwellofmywritingthananyoneintheworld.” ThiswassogenuineatributetohistrustinherthatKatharinewastouched. “Youthinktoomuchofmealtogether,William,”shesaid,forgettingthatshehadnotmeanttospeakinthisway. “No,Katharine,Idon’t,”hereplied,replacinghismanuscriptinthedrawer.“Itdoesmegoodtothinkofyou.” Soquietananswer,followedasitwasbynoexpressionoflove,butmerelybythestatementthatifshemustgohewouldtakehertotheStrand,andwould,ifshecouldwaitamoment,changehisdressing-gownforacoat,movedhertothewarmestfeelingofaffectionforhimthatshehadyetexperienced.Whilehechangedinthenextroom,shestoodbythebookcase,takingdownbooksandopeningthem,butreadingnothingontheirpages. ShefeltcertainthatshewouldmarryRodney.Howcouldoneavoidit?Howcouldonefindfaultwithit?Hereshesighed,and,puttingthethoughtofmarriageaway,fellintoadreamstate,inwhichshebecameanotherperson,andthewholeworldseemedchanged.Beingafrequentvisitortothatworld,shecouldfindherwaythereunhesitatingly.Ifshehadtriedtoanalyzeherimpressions,shewouldhavesaidthattheredwelttherealitiesoftheappearanceswhichfigureinourworldsodirect,powerful,andunimpededwerehersensationsthere,comparedwiththosecalledforthinactuallife.Theredweltthethingsonemighthavefelt,hadtherebeencausetheperfecthappinessofwhichherewetastethefragmentthebeautyseenhereinflyingglimpsesonly.Nodoubtmuchofthefurnitureofthisworldwasdrawndirectlyfromthepast,andevenfromtheEnglandoftheElizabethanage.Howevertheembellishmentofthisimaginaryworldmightchange,twoqualitieswereconstantinit.Itwasaplacewherefeelingswereliberatedfromtheconstraintwhichtherealworldputsuponthemandtheprocessofawakenmentwasalwaysmarkedbyresignationandakindofstoicalacceptanceoffacts.Shemetnoacquaintancethere,asDenhamdid,miraculouslytransfiguredsheplayednoheroicpart.Buttherecertainlyshelovedsomemagnanimoushero,andastheyswepttogetheramongtheleaf-hungtreesofanunknownworld,theysharedthefeelingswhichcamefreshandfastasthewavesontheshore.ButthesandsofherliberationwererunningfasteventhroughtheforestbranchescamesoundsofRodneymovingthingsonhisdressing-tableandKatharinewokeherselffromthisexcursionbyshuttingthecoverofthebookshewasholding,andreplacingitinthebookshelf. “William,”shesaid,speakingratherfaintlyatfirst,likeonesendingavoicefromsleeptoreachtheliving.“William,”sherepeatedfirmly,“ifyoustillwantmetomarryyou,Iwill.” Perhapsitwasthatnomancouldexpecttohavethemostmomentousquestionofhislifesettledinavoicesolevel,sotoneless,sodevoidofjoyorenergy.AtanyrateWilliammadenoanswer.Shewaitedstoically.Amomentlaterhesteppedbrisklyfromhisdressing-room,andobservedthatifshewantedtobuymoreoystershethoughtheknewwheretheycouldfindafishmonger’sshopstillopen.Shebreatheddeeplyasighofrelief. ExtractfromalettersentafewdayslaterbyMrs.Hilberytohersister-in-law,Mrs.Milvain: “...Howstupidofmetoforgetthenameinmytelegram.S