CHAPTER TWELVE

tsidethewater-cartgoingslowlyalongsprayingthepavementthecarriagesjingling,andallthesilverandchintz,brownandbluerugsandvasesfilledwithgreenboughs,stripedwithtremblingyellowbars. Theinsipidityofwhatwassaidneedsnoillustration—Bonamykeptongentlyreturningquietanswersandaccumulatingamazementatanexistencesqueezedandemasculatedwithinawhitesatinshoe(Mrs.DurrantmeanwhileenunciatingstridentpoliticswithSirSomebodyinthebackroom)untilthevirginityofClara'ssoulappearedtohimcandidthedepthsunknownandhewouldhavebroughtoutJacob'snamehadhenotbeguntofeelpositivelycertainthatClaralovedhim—andcoulddonothingwhatever. "Nothingwhatever!"heexclaimed,asthedoorshut,and,foramanofhistemperament,gotaveryqueerfeeling,ashewalkedthroughthepark,ofcarriagesirresistiblydrivenofflowerbedsuncompromisinglygeometricalofforcerushingroundgeometricalpatternsinthemostsenselesswayintheworld."WasClara,"hethought,pausingtowatchtheboysbathingintheSerpentine,"thesilentwoman?—wouldJacobmarryher?" ButinAthensinthesunshine,inAthens,whereitisalmostimpossibletogetafternoontea,andelderlygentlemenwhotalkpoliticstalkthemalltheotherwayround,inAthenssatSandraWentworthWilliams,veiled,inwhite,herlegsstretchedinfrontofher,oneelbowonthearmofthebamboochair,bluecloudswaveringanddriftingfromhercigarette. TheorangetreeswhichflourishintheSquareoftheConstitution,theband,thedraggingoffeet,thesky,thehouses,lemonandrosecoloured—allthisbecamesosignificanttoMrs.WentworthWilliamsafterhersecondcupofcoffeethatshebegandramatizingthestoryofthenobleandimpulsiveEnglishwomanwhohadofferedaseatinhercarriagetotheoldAmericanladyatMycenae(Mrs.Duggan)—notaltogetherafalsestory,thoughitsaidnothingofEvan,standingfirstononefoot,thenontheother,waitingforthewomentostopchattering. "IamputtingthelifeofFatherDamienintoverse,"Mrs.Dugganhadsaid,forshehadlosteverything—everythingintheworld,husbandandchildandeverything,butfaithremained. Sandra,floatingfromtheparticulartotheuniversal,laybackinatrance. Theflightoftimewhichhurriesussotragicallyalongtheeternaldrudgeanddrone,nowburstingintofieryflamelikethosebriefballsofyellowamonggreenleaves(shewaslookingatorangetrees)kissesonlipsthataretodietheworldturning,turninginmazesofheatandsound—thoughtobesurethereisthequieteveningwithitslovelypallor,"ForIamsensitivetoeverysideofit,"Sandrathought,"andMrs.Dugganwillwritetomeforever,andIshallanswerherletters."Nowtheroyalbandmarchingbywiththenationalflagstirredwiderringsofemotion,andlifebecamesomethingthatthecourageousmountandrideouttoseaon—thehairblownback(sosheenvisagedit,andthebreezestirredslightlyamongtheorangetrees)andsheherselfwasemergingfromsilverspray—whenshesawJacob.HewasstandingintheSquarewithabookunderhisarmlookingvacantlyabouthim.Thathewasheavilybuiltandmightbecomestoutintimewasafact. Butshesuspectedhimofbeingamerebumpkin. "Thereisthatyoungman,"shesaid,peevishly,throwingawayhercigarette,"thatMr.Flanders." "Where?"saidEvan."Idon'tseehim." "Oh,walkingaway—behindthetreesnow.No,youcan'tseehim.Butwearesuretorunintohim,"which,ofcourse,theydid. Buthowfarwasheamerebumpkin?HowfarwasJacobFlandersattheageoftwenty-sixastupidfellow?Itisnousetryingtosumpeopleup.Onemustfollowhints,notexactlywhatissaid,noryetentirelywhatisdone.Some,itistrue,takeineffaceableimpressionsofcharacteratonce.Othersdally,loiter,andgetblownthiswayandthat.Kindoldladiesassureusthatcatsareoftenthebestjudgesofcharacter.Acatwillalwaysgotoagoodman,theysaybutthen,Mrs.Whitehorn,Jacob'slandlady,loathedcats. Thereisalsothehighlyrespectableopinionthatcharacter-mongeringismuchoverdonenowadays.Afterall,whatdoesitmatter—thatFannyElmerwasallsentimentandsensation,andMrs.Durranthardasiron?thatClara,owing(sothecharacter-mongerssaid)largelytohermother'sinfluence,neveryethadthechancetodoanythingoffherownbat,andonlytoveryobservanteyesdisplayeddeepsoffeelingwhichwerepositivelyalarmingandwouldcertainlythrowherselfawayuponsomeoneunworthyofheroneofthesedaysunless,sothecharacter-mongerssaid,shehadasparkofhermother'sspiritinher—wassomehowheroic.ButwhatatermtoapplytoClaraDurrant!Simpletoadegree,othersthoughther.Andthatistheveryreason,sotheysaid,whysheattractsDickBonamy—theyoungmanwiththeWellingtonnose.NowHE'Sadarkhorseifyoulike.Andtherethesegossipswouldsuddenlypause.Obviouslytheymeanttohintathispeculiardisposition—longrumouredamongthem. "ButsometimesitispreciselyawomanlikeClarathatmenofthattemperamentneed…"MissJuliaEliotwouldhint. "Well,"Mr.Bowleywouldreply,"itmaybeso." Forhoweverlongthesegossipssit,andhowevertheystuffouttheirvictims'characterstilltheyareswollenandtenderastheliversofgeeseexposedtoahotfire,theynevercometoadecision. "Thatyoungman,JacobFlanders,"theywouldsay,"sodistinguishedlooking—andyetsoawkward."ThentheywouldapplythemselvestoJacobandvacillateeternallybetweenthetwoextremes.Herodetohounds—afterafashion,forhehadn'tapenny. "Didyoueverhearwhohisfatherwas?"askedJuliaEliot. "Hismother,theysay,issomehowconnectedwiththeRocksbiers,"repliedMr.Bowley. "Hedoesn'toverworkhimselfanyhow." "Hisfriendsareveryfondofhim." "DickBonamy,youmean?" "No,Ididn'tmeanthat.It'sevidentlytheotherwaywithJacob.Heispreciselytheyoungmantofallheadlonginloveandrepentitfortherestofhislife." "Oh,Mr.Bowley,"saidMrs.Durrant,sweepingdownupontheminherimperiousmanner,"yourememberMrs.Adams?Well,thatisherniece."AndMr.Bowley,gettingup,bowedpolitelyandfetchedstrawberries. Sowearedrivenbacktoseewhattheothersidemeans—themeninclubsandCabinets—whentheysaythatcharacter-drawingisafrivolousfiresideart,amatterofpinsandneedles,exquisiteoutlinesenclosingvacancy,flourishes,andmerescrawls. ThebattleshipsrayoutovertheNorthSea,keepingtheirstationsaccuratelyapart.Atagivensignalallthegunsaretrainedonatargetwhich(themastergunnercountstheseconds,watchinhand—atthesixthhelooksup)flamesintosplinters.Withequalnonchalanceadozenyoungmenintheprimeoflifedescendwithcomposedfacesintothedepthsoftheseaandthereimpassively(thoughwithperfectmasteryofmachinery)suffocateuncomplaininglytogether.Likeblocksoftinsoldiersthearmycoversthecornfield,movesupthehillside,stops,reelsslightlythiswayandthat,andfallsflat,savethat,throughfieldglasses,itcanbeseenthatoneortwopiecesstillagitateupanddownlikefragmentsofbrokenmatch-stick. Theseactions,togetherwiththeincessantcommerceofbanks,laboratories,chancellories,andhousesofbusiness,arethestrokeswhichoartheworldforward,theysay.AndtheyaredealtbymenassmoothlysculpturedastheimpassivepolicemanatLudgateCircus.Butyouwillobservethatfarfrombeingpaddedtorotundityhisfaceisstifffromforceofwill,andleanfromtheeffortsofkeepingitso.Whenhisrightarmrises,alltheforceinhisveinsflowsstraightfromshouldertofinger-tipsnotanounceisdivertedintosuddenimpulses,sentimentalregrets,wire-drawndistinctions.Thebusespunctuallystop. Itisthusthatwelive,theysay,drivenbyanunseizableforce.Theysaythatthenovelistsnevercatchitthatitgoeshurtlingthroughtheirnetsandleavesthemtorntoribbons.This,theysay,iswhatweliveby—thisunseizableforce. "Wherearethemen?"saidoldGeneralGibbons,lookingroundthedrawing-room,fullasusualonSundayafternoonsofwell-dressedpeople."Wherearetheguns?" Mrs.Durrantlookedtoo. Clara,thinkingthathermotherwantedher,cameinthenwentoutagain. TheyweretalkingaboutGermanyattheDurrants,andJacob(drivenbythisunseizableforce)walkedrapidlydownHermesStreetandranstraightintotheWilliamses. "Oh!"criedSandra,withacordialitywhichshesuddenlyfelt.AndEvanadded,"Whatluck!" ThedinnerwhichtheygavehiminthehotelwhichlooksontotheSquareoftheConstitutionwasexcellent.Platedbasketscontainedfreshrolls.Therewasrealbutter.Andthemeatscarcelyneededthedisguiseofinnumerablelittleredandgreenvegetablesglazedinsauce. Itwasstrange,though.TherewerethelittletablessetoutatintervalsonthescarletfloorwiththeGreekKing'smonogramwroughtinyellow.Sandradinedinherhat,veiledasusual.Evanlookedthiswayandthatoverhisshoulderimperturbableyetsuppleandsometimessighed.Itwasstrange.FortheywereEnglishpeoplecometogetherinAthensonaMayevening.Jacob,helpinghimselftothisandthat,answeredintelligently,yetwitharinginhisvoice. TheWilliamsesweregoingtoConstantinopleearlynextmorning,theysaid. "Beforeyouareup,"saidSandra. TheywouldleaveJacobalone,then.Turningveryslightly,Evanorderedsomething—abottleofwine—fromwhichhehelpedJacob,withakindofsolicitude,withakindofpaternalsolicitude,ifthatwerepossible.Tobeleftalone—thatwasgoodforayoungfellow.Neverwasthereatimewhenthecountryhadmoreneedofmen.Hesighed. "AndyouhavebeentotheAcropolis?"askedSandra. "Yes,"saidJacob.Andtheymovedofftothewindowtogether,whileEvanspoketotheheadwaiteraboutcallingthemearly. "Itisastonishing,"saidJacob,inagruffvoice. Sandraopenedhereyesveryslightly.Possiblyhernostrilsexpandedalittletoo. "Athalf-pastsixthen,"saidEvan,comingtowardsthem,lookingasifhefacedsomethinginfacinghiswifeandJacobstandingwiththeirbackstothewindow. Sandrasmiledathim. And,ashewenttothewindowandhadnothingtosaysheadded,inbrokenhalf-sentences: "Well,buthowlovely—wouldn'titbe?TheAcropolis,Evan—orareyoutootired?" AtthatEvanlookedatthem,or,sinceJacobwasstaringaheadofhim,athiswife,surlily,sullenly,yetwithakindofdistress—notthatshewouldpityhim.Norwouldtheimplacablespiritoflove,foranythinghecoulddo,ceaseitstortures. Theylefthimandhesatinthesmoking-room,whichlooksoutontothe SquareoftheConstitution. "Evanisha