Part 61 (2/2)
Edwin had never seen her so moved. Her emotion was touching, it was beautiful. She need not have said that she had come because she must.
The fact was in her rapt eyes. She was under a spell.
”Well, I must go!” she said, with a curious brusqueness. Perhaps she had a dim perception that she was behaving in a manner unusual with her.
”You'll tell your sister.”
Her departing bow to Mrs Hamps had the formality of courts, and was equalled by Mrs Hamps's bow. Just as Mrs Hamps, having re-created her elaborate smile, was allowing it finally to expire, she had to bring it into existence once more, and very suddenly, for Janet returned to the wall.
”You won't forget tennis after tea,” said Janet shortly.
Edwin said that he should not.
TWO.
”Well, well!” Mrs Hamps commented, and sat down in the wicker-chair of Darius.
”I wonder she doesn't get married herself,” said Edwin idly, having nothing in particular to remark.
”You're a nice one to say such a thing!” Mrs Hamps exclaimed.
”Why?”
”Well, you really are!” She raised the structure of her bonnet and curls, and shook it slowly at him. And her gaze had an extraordinary quality of fleshly naughtiness that half pleased and half annoyed him.
”Why?” he repeated.
”Well,” she said again, ”you aren't a ninny, and you aren't a simpleton.
At least I hope not. You must know as well as anybody the name of the young gentleman that she's waiting for.”
In spite of himself, Edwin blushed: he blushed more and more. Then he scowled.
”What nonsense!” he muttered viciously. He was entirely sincere. The notion that Janet was waiting for him had never once crossed his mind.
It seemed to him fantastic, one of those silly ideas that a woman such as Auntie Hamps would be likely to have, or more accurately would be likely to pretend to have. Still, it did just happen that on this occasion his auntie's expression was more convincing than usual. She seemed more human than usual, to have abandoned, at any rate partially, the baffling garment of effusive insincerity in which she hid her soul.
The Eve in her seemed to show herself, and, looking forth from her eyes, to admit that the youthful dalliance of the s.e.xes was alone interesting in this life of strict piety. The revelation was uncanny.
”You needn't talk like that,” she retorted calmly, ”unless you want to go down in my good opinion. You don't mean to tell me honestly that you don't know what's been the talk of the town for years and years!”
”It's ridiculous,” said Edwin. ”Why--what do you know of her--you don't know the Orgreaves at all!”
”I know that, anyway,” said Auntie Hamps.
”Oh! Stuff!” He grew impatient.
And yet, in his extreme astonishment, he was flattered and delighted.
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