Part 42 (1/2)
”You desire a hotel?”
”Yes, because--well, I mustn't interfere with you. No doubt you want to be married from your old home.”
”My old home's falling into pieces, Henry. I only want my new. Isn't it a perfect evening--”
”The Alexandrina isn't bad--”
”The Alexandrina,” she echoed, more occupied with the threads of smoke that were issuing from their chimneys, and ruling the sunlit slopes with parallels of grey.
”It's off Curzon Street.”
”Is it? Let's be married from off Curzon Street.”
Then she turned westward, to gaze at the swirling gold. Just where the river rounded the hill the sun caught it. Fairyland must lie above the bend, and its precious liquid was pouring towards them past Charles's bathing-shed. She gazed so long that her eyes were dazzled, and when they moved back to the house, she could not recognise the faces of people who were coming out of it. A parlour-maid was preceding them.
”Who are those people?” she asked.
”They're callers!” exclaimed Henry. ”It's too late for callers.”
”Perhaps they're town people who want to see the wedding presents.”
”I'm not at home yet to townees.”
”Well, hide among the ruins, and if I can stop them, I will.”
He thanked her.
Margaret went forward, smiling socially. She supposed that these were unpunctual guests, who would have to be content with vicarious civility, since Evie and Charles were gone, Henry tired, and the others in their rooms. She a.s.sumed the airs of a hostess; not for long. For one of the group was Helen--Helen in her oldest clothes, and dominated by that tense, wounding excitement that had made her a terror in their nursery days.
”What is it?” she called. ”Oh, what's wrong? Is Tibby ill?”
Helen spoke to her two companions, who fell back. Then she bore forward furiously.
”They're starving!” she shouted. ”I found them starving!”
”Who? Why have you come?”
”The Basts.”
”Oh, Helen!” moaned Margaret. ”Whatever have you done now?”
”He has lost his place. He has been turned out of his bank. Yes, he's done for. We upper cla.s.ses have ruined him, and I suppose you'll tell me it's the battle of life. Starving. His wife is ill. Starving. She fainted in the train.”
”Helen, are you mad?”
”Perhaps. Yes. If you like, I'm mad. But I've brought them. I'll stand injustice no longer. I'll show up the wretchedness that lies under this luxury, this talk of impersonal forces, this cant about G.o.d doing what we're too slack to do ourselves.”
”Have you actually brought two starving people from London to Shrops.h.i.+re, Helen?”
Helen was checked. She had not thought of this, and her hysteria abated.
”There was a restaurant car on the train,” she said.