Part 60 (1/2)
”Charles may say no,” grumbled Helen.
”We shan't consult him.”
”Go if you like; I should have stopped without leave.”
It was the touch of selfishness, which was not enough to mar Helen's character, and even added to its beauty. She would have stopped without leave and escaped to Germany the next morning. Margaret kissed her.
”Expect me back before dark. I am looking forward to it so much. It is like you to have thought of such a beautiful thing.”
”Not a thing, only an ending,” said Helen rather sadly; and the sense of tragedy closed in on Margaret again as soon as she left the house.
She was afraid of Miss Avery. It is disquieting to fulfil a prophecy, however superficially. She was glad to see no watching figure as she drove past the farm, but only little Tom, turning somersaults in the straw.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII
The tragedy began quietly enough, and, like many another talk, by the man's deft a.s.sertion of his superiority. Henry heard her arguing with the driver, stepped out and settled the fellow, who was inclined to be rude, and then led the way to some chairs on the lawn. Dolly, who had not been ”told,” ran out with offers of tea. He refused them, and ordered them to wheel baby's perambulator away, as they desired to be alone.
”But the diddums can't listen; he isn't nine months old,” she pleaded.
”That's not what I was saying,” retorted her father-in-law.
Baby was wheeled out of earshot, and did not hear about the crisis till later years. It was now the turn of Margaret.
”Is it what we feared?” he asked.
”It is.”
”Dear girl,” he began, ”there is a troublesome business ahead of us, and nothing but the most absolute honesty and plain speech will see us through.” Margaret bent her head. ”I am obliged to question you on subjects we'd both prefer to leave untouched. As you know, I am not one of your Bernard Shaws who consider nothing sacred. To speak as I must will pain me, but there are occasions--We are husband and wife, not children. I am a man of the world, and you are a most exceptional woman.”
All Margaret's senses forsook her. She blushed, and looked past him at the Six Hills, covered with spring herbage. Noting her colour, he grew still more kind.
”I see that you feel as I felt when--My poor little wife! Oh, be brave!
Just one or two questions, and I have done with you. Was your sister wearing a wedding-ring?”
Margaret stammered a ”No.”
There was an appalling silence.
”Henry, I really came to ask a favour about Howards End.”
”One point at a time. I am now obliged to ask for the name of her seducer.”
She rose to her feet and held the chair between them. Her colour had ebbed, and she was grey. It did not displease him that she should receive his question thus.
”Take your time,” he counselled her. ”Remember that this is far worse for me than for you.”
She swayed; he feared she was going to faint. Then speech came, and she said slowly: ”Seducer? No; I do not know her seducer's name.”
”Would she not tell you?”