CHAPTER XXIV

flistening,theygoonlisteninginvoluntarily,andthusKatharinespentthegreaterpartofthemorninginlisteningtoavarietyofsoundsinthebackstreetsofChelsea.Forthefirsttimeinherlife,probably,shewishedthatMrs.Hilberywouldnotkeepsocloselytoherwork.AquotationfromShakespearewouldnothavecomeamiss.Nowandagainsheheardasighfromhermother’stable,butthatwastheonlyproofshegaveofherexistence,andKatharinedidnotthinkofconnectingitwiththesquareaspectofherownpositionatthetable,or,perhaps,shewouldhavethrownherpendownandtoldhermotherthereasonofherrestlessness.Theonlywritingshemanagedtoaccomplishinthecourseofthemorningwasoneletter,addressedtohercousin,CassandraOtway—aramblingletter,long,affectionate,playfulandcommandingallatonce.ShebadeCassandraputhercreaturesinthechargeofagroom,andcometothemforaweekorso.Theywouldgoandhearsomemusictogether.Cassandra’sdislikeofrationalsociety,shesaid,wasanaffectationfasthardeningintoaprejudice,whichwould,inthelongrun,isolateherfromallinterestingpeopleandpursuits.Shewasfinishingthesheetwhenthesoundshewasanticipatingallthetimeactuallystruckuponherears.Shejumpeduphastily,andslammedthedoorwithasharpnesswhichmadeMrs.Hilberystart.WherewasKatharineoffto?Inherpreoccupiedstateshehadnotheardthebell. Thealcoveonthestairs,inwhichthetelephonewasplaced,wasscreenedforprivacybyacurtainofpurplevelvet.Itwasapocketforsuperfluouspossessions,suchasexistinmosthouseswhichharborthewreckageofthreegenerations.Printsofgreat-uncles,famedfortheirprowessintheEast,hungaboveChineseteapots,whosesideswererivetedbylittlegoldstitches,andthepreciousteapots,again,stooduponbookcasescontainingthecompleteworksofWilliamCowperandSirWalterScott.Thethreadofsound,issuingfromthetelephone,wasalwayscoloredbythesurroundingswhichreceivedit,soitseemedtoKatharine.Whosevoicewasnowgoingtocombinewiththem,ortostrikeadiscord? “Whosevoice?”sheaskedherself,hearingamaninquire,withgreatdetermination,forhernumber.TheunfamiliarvoicenowaskedforMissHilbery.Outofallthewelterofvoiceswhichcrowdroundthefarendofthetelephone,outoftheenormousrangeofpossibilities,whosevoice,whatpossibility,wasthis?Apausegavehertimetoaskherselfthisquestion.Itwassolvednextmoment. “I’velookedoutthetrain....EarlyonSaturdayafternoonwouldsuitmebest....I’mRalphDenham....ButI’llwriteitdown....” Withmorethantheusualsenseofbeingimpingeduponthepointofabayonet,Katharinereplied: “IthinkIcouldcome.I’lllookatmyengagements....Holdon.” Shedroppedthemachine,andlookedfixedlyattheprintofthegreat-unclewhohadnotceasedtogaze,withanairofamiableauthority,intoaworldwhich,asyet,beheldnosymptomsoftheIndianMutiny.Andyet,gentlyswingingagainstthewall,withintheblacktube,wasavoicewhichreckednothingofUncleJames,ofChinateapots,orofredvelvetcurtains.Shewatchedtheoscillationofthetube,andatthesamemomentbecameconsciousoftheindividualityofthehouseinwhichshestoodsheheardthesoftdomesticsoundsofregularexistenceuponstaircasesandfloorsaboveherhead,andmovementsthroughthewallinthehousenextdoor.ShehadnoveryclearvisionofDenhamhimself,whensheliftedthetelephonetoherlipsandrepliedthatshethoughtSaturdaywouldsuither.Shehopedthathewouldnotsaygood-byeatonce,althoughshefeltnoparticularanxietytoattendtowhathewassaying,andbegan,evenwhilehespoke,tothinkofherownupperroom,withitsbooks,itspaperspressedbetweentheleavesofdictionaries,andthetablethatcouldbeclearedforwork.Shereplacedtheinstrument,thoughtfullyherrestlessnesswasassuagedshefinishedherlettertoCassandrawithoutdifficulty,addressedtheenvelope,andfixedthestampwithherusualquickdecision. AbunchofanemonescaughtMrs.Hilbery’seyewhentheyhadfinishedluncheon.Theblueandpurpleandwhiteofthebowl,standinginapoolofvariegatedlightonapolishedChippendaletableinthedrawing-roomwindow,madeherstopdeadwithanexclamationofpleasure. “Whoislyingillinbed,Katharine?”shedemanded.“Whichofourfriendswantscheeringup?Whofeelsthatthey’vebeenforgottenandpassedover,andthatnobodywantsthem?Whosewaterratesareoverdue,andthecookleavinginatemperwithoutwaitingforherwages?TherewassomebodyIknow—”sheconcluded,butforthemomentthenameofthisdesirableacquaintanceescapedher.Thebestrepresentativeoftheforlorncompanywhosedaywouldbebrightenedbyabunchofanemoneswas,inKatharine’sopinion,thewidowofagenerallivingintheCromwellRoad.Indefaultoftheactuallydestituteandstarving,whomshewouldmuchhavepreferred,Mrs.Hilberywasforcedtoacknowledgeherclaims,forthoughincomfortablecircumstances,shewasextremelydull,unattractive,connectedinsomeobliquefashionwithliterature,andhadbeentouchedtothevergeoftears,ononeoccasion,byanafternooncall. IthappenedthatMrs.Hilberyhadanengagementelsewhere,sothatthetaskoftakingtheflowerstotheCromwellRoadfelluponKatharine.ShetookherlettertoCassandrawithher,meaningtopostitinthefirstpillar-boxshecameto.When,however,shewasfairlyoutofdoors,andconstantlyinvitedbypillar-boxesandpost-officestoslipherenvelopedowntheirscarletthroats,sheforbore.Shemadeabsurdexcuses,asthatshedidnotwishtocrosstheroad,orthatshewascertaintopassanotherpost-officeinamorecentralpositionalittlefartheron.Thelongersheheldtheletterinherhand,however,themorepersistentlycertainquestionspresseduponher,asiffromacollectionofvoicesintheair.TheseinvisiblepeoplewishedtobeinformedwhethershewasengagedtoWilliamRodney,orwastheengagementbrokenoff?Wasitright,theyasked,toinviteCassandraforavisit,andwasWilliamRodneyinlovewithher,orlikelytofallinlove?Thenthequestionerspausedforamoment,andresumedasifanothersideoftheproblemhadjustcometotheirnotice.WhatdidRalphDenhammeanbywhathesaidtoyoulastnight?Doyouconsiderthatheisinlovewithyou?Isitrighttoconsenttoasolitarywalkwithhim,andwhatadviceareyougoingtogivehimabouthisfuture?HasWilliamRodneycausetobejealousofyourconduct,andwhatdoyouproposetodoaboutMaryDatchet?Whatareyougoingtodo?Whatdoeshonorrequireyoutodo?theyrepeated. “GoodHeavens!”Katharineexclaimed,afterlisteningtoalltheseremarks,“IsupposeIoughttomakeupmymind.” Butthedebatewasaformalskirmishing,apastimetogainbreathing-space.Likeallpeoplebroughtupinatradition,Katharinewasable,withintenminutesorso,toreduceanymoraldifficultytoitstraditionalshapeandsolveitbythetraditionalanswers.Thebookofwisdomlayopen,ifnotuponhermother’sknee,uponthekneesofmanyunclesandaunts.Shehadonlytoconsultthem,andtheywouldatonceturntotherightpageandreadoutananswerexactlysuitedtooneinherposition.Theruleswhichshouldgovernthebehaviorofanunmarriedwomanarewritteninredink,graveduponmarble,if,bysomefreakofnature,itshouldfalloutthattheunmarriedwomanhasnotthesamewritingscoreduponherheart.Shewasreadytobelievethatsomepeoplearefortunateenoughtoreject,accept,resign,orlaydowntheirlivesatthebiddingoftraditionalauthorityshecouldenvythembutinhercasethequestionsbecamephantomsdirectlyshetriedseriouslytofindananswer,whichprovedthatthetraditionalanswerwouldbeofnousetoherindividually.Yetithadservedsomanypeople,shethought,glancingattherowsofhousesoneithersideofher,wherefamilies,whoseincomesmustbebetweenathousandandfifteen-hundredayearlived,andkept,perhaps,threeservants,anddrapedtheirwindowswithcurtainswhichwerealwaysthickandgenerallydirty,andmust,shethought,sinceyoucouldonlyseealooking-glassgleamingaboveasideboardonwhichadishofappleswasset,keeptheroominsideverydark.Butsheturnedherheadaway,observingthatthiswasnotamethodofthinkingthematterout. Theonlytruthwhichshecoulddiscoverwasthetruthofwhatsheherselffelt—afrailbeamwhencomparedwiththebroadilluminationshedbytheeyesofallthepeoplewhoareinagreementtoseetogetherbuthavingrejectedthevisionaryvoices,shehadnochoicebuttomakethisherguidethroughthedarkmasseswhichconfrontedher.Shetriedtofollowherbeam,withanexpressionuponherfacewhichwouldhavemadeanypasser-bythinkherreprehensiblyandalmostridiculouslydetachedfromthesurroundingscene.Onewouldhavefeltalarmedlestthisyoungandstrikingwomanwereabouttodosomethingeccentric.Butherbeautysavedherfromtheworstfatethatcanbefallapedestrianpeoplelookedather,buttheydidnotlaugh.Toseekatruefeelingamongthechaosoftheunfeelingsorhalf-feelingsoflife,torecognizeitwhenfound,andtoaccepttheconsequencesofthediscovery,drawslinesuponthesmoothe