But Hewet need not have increased his torments2 by imagining thatHirst was still talking to Rachel. The party very soon broke up,the Flushings going in one direction, Hirst in another, and Rachelremaining in the hall, pulling the illustrated3 papers about,turning from one to another, her movements expressing the unformedrestless desire in her mind. She did not know whether to go orto stay, though Mrs. Flushing had commanded her to appear at tea.
The hall was empty, save for Miss Willett who was playing scales withher fingers upon a sheet of sacred music, and the Carters, an opulentcouple who disliked the girl, because her shoe laces were untied,and she did not look sufficiently4 cheery, which by some indirectprocess of thought led them to think that she would not like them.
Rachel certainly would not have liked them, if she had seen them,for the excellent reason that Mr. Carter waxed his moustache,and Mrs. Carter wore bracelets6, and they were evidently the kindof people who would not like her; but she was too much absorbedby her own restlessness to think or to look.
She was turning over the slippery pages of an American magazine,when the hall door swung, a wedge of light fell upon the floor,and a small white figure upon whom the light seemed focussed,made straight across the room to her.
"What! You here?" Evelyn exclaimed. "Just caught a glimpseof you at lunch; but you wouldn't condescend7 to look at _me_."It was part of Evelyn's character that in spite of many snubswhich she received or imagined, she never gave up the pursuitof people she wanted to know, and in the long run generallysucceeded in knowing them and even in making them like her.
She looked round her. "I hate this place. I hate these people,"she said. "I wish you'd come up to my room with me. I do want totalk to you."As Rachel had no wish to go or to stay, Evelyn took her by the wristand drew her out of the hall and up the stairs. As they went upstairstwo steps at a time, Evelyn, who still kept hold of Rachel's hand,ejaculated broken sentences about not caring a hang what people said.
"Why should one, if one knows one's right? And let 'em all goto blazes! Them's my opinions!"She was in a state of great excitement, and the muscles of her armswere twitching9 nervously10. It was evident that she was only waitingfor the door to shut to tell Rachel all about it. Indeed, directly theywere inside her room, she sat on the end of the bed and said,"I suppose you think I'm mad?"Rachel was not in the mood to think clearly about any one's stateof mind. She was however in the mood to say straight out whateveroccurred to her without fear of the consequences.
"Somebody's proposed to you," she remarked.
"How on earth did you guess that?" Evelyn exclaimed, some pleasuremingling with her surprise. "Do as I look as if I'd just hada proposal?""You look as if you had them every day," Rachel replied.
"But I don't suppose I've had more than you've had," Evelyn laughedrather insincerely.
"I've never had one.""But you will--lots--it's the easiest thing in the world--But that'snot what's happened this afternoon exactly. It's--Oh, it's a muddle11,a detestable, horrible, disgusting muddle!"She went to the wash-stand and began sponging her cheeks with cold water;for they were burning hot. Still sponging them and trembling slightly sheturned and explained in the high pitched voice of nervous excitement:
"Alfred Perrott says I've promised to marry him, and I say I never did.
Sinclair says he'll shoot himself if I don't marry him, and I say,'Well, shoot yourself!' But of course he doesn't--they never do.
And Sinclair got hold of me this afternoon and began bothering meto give an answer, and accusing me of flirting12 with Alfred Perrott,and told me I'd no heart, and was merely a Siren, oh, and quantitiesof pleasant things like that. So at last I said to him,'Well, Sinclair, you've said enough now. You can just let me go.'
And then he caught me and kissed me--the disgusting brute13--I canstill feel his nasty hairy face just there--as if he'd any right to,after what he'd said!"She sponged a spot on her left cheek energetically.
"I've never met a man that was fit to compare with a woman!"she cried; "they've no dignity, they've no courage, they've nothingbut their beastly passions and their brute strength! Would anywoman have behaved like that--if a man had said he didn't want her?
We've too much self-respect; we're infinitely14 finer than they are."She walked about the room, dabbing15 her wet cheeks with a towel.
Tears were now running down with the drops of cold water.
"It makes me angry," she explained, drying her eyes.
Rachel sat watching her. She did not think of Evelyn's position;she only thought that the world was full or people in torment1.
"There's only one man here I really like," Evelyn continued;"Terence Hewet. One feels as if one could trust him."At these words Rachel suffered an indescribable chill; her heartseemed to be pressed together by cold hands.
"Why?" she asked. "Why can you trust him?""I don't know," said Evelyn. "Don't you have feelings about people?
Feelings you're absolutely certain are right? I had a long talk withTerence the other night. I felt we were really friends after that.
There's something of a woman in him--" She paused as though shewere thinking of very intimate things that Terence had told her,so at least Rachel interpreted her gaze.
She tried to force herself to say, "Has to be proposed to you?"but the question was too tremendous, and in another moment Evelynwas saying that the finest men were like women, and women were noblerthan men--for example, one couldn't imagine a woman like LillahHarrison thinking a mean thing or having anything base about her.
"How I'd like you to know her!" she exclaimed.
She was becoming much calmer, and her cheeks were now quite dry.
Her eyes had regained16 their usual expression of keen vitality17,and she seemed to have forgotten Alfred and Sinclair and her emotion.
"Lillah runs a home for inebriate18 women in the Deptford Road,"she continued. "She started it, managed it, did everything offher own bat, and it's now the biggest of its kind in England.
You can't think what those women are like--and their homes.
But she goes among them at all hours of the day and night.
I've often been with her. . . . That's what's the matter with us.
. . . We don't _do_ things. What do you _do_?" she demanded,looking at Rachel with a slightly ironical19 smile. Rachel had scarcelylistened to any of this, and her expression was vacant and unhappy.
She had conceived an equal dislike for Lillah Harrison and her workin the Deptford Road, and for Evelyn M. and her profusion20 of loveaffairs.
"I play," she said with an affection of stolid21 composure.
"That's about it!" Evelyn laughed. "We none of us do anythingbut play. And that's why women like Lillah Harrison, who's worthtwenty of you and me, have to work themselves to the bone.
But I'm tired of playing," she went on, lying flat on the bed,and raising her arms above her head. Thus stretched out, she lookedmore diminutive22 than ever.
"I'm going to do something. I've got a splendid idea. Look here,you must join. I'm sure you've got any amount of stuff in you,though you look--well, as if you'd lived all your life in a garden."She sat up, and began to explain with animation23. "I belong to a clubin London. It meets every Saturday, so it's called the Saturday Club.
We're supposed to talk about art, but I'm sick of talking about art--what's the good of it? With all kinds of real things going on round one?
It isn't as if they'd got anything to say about art, either.
So what I'm going to tell 'em is that we've talked enough about art,and we'd better talk about life for a change. Questions that reallymatter to people's lives, the White Slave Traffic, Women Suffrage24,the Insurance Bill, and so on. And when we've made up our mind whatwe want to do we could form ourselves into a society for doing it.
. . . I'm certain that if people like ourselves were to takethings in hand instead of leaving it to policemen and magistrates,we could put a stop to--prostitution"--she lowered her voiceat the ugly word--"in six months. My idea is that men and womenought to join in these matters. We ought to go into Piccadillyand stop one of these poor wretches25 and say: 'Now, look here,I'm no better than you are, and I don't pretend to be any better,but you're doing what you know to be beastly, and I won't haveyou doing beastly things, because we're all the same underour skins, and if you do a beastly thing it does matter to me.'
That's what Mr. Bax was saying this morning, and it's true,though you clever people--you're clever too, aren't you?--don't believe it."When Evelyn began talking--it was a fact she often regretted--her thoughts came so quickly that she never had any time to listento other people's thoughts. She continued without more pause thanwas needed for taking breath.
"I don't see why the Saturday club people shouldn't do a really greatwork in that way," she went on. "Of course it would want organisation,some one to give their life to it, but I'm ready to do that. My notion'sto think of the human beings first and let the abstract ideas take careof themselves. What's wrong with Lillah--if there is anything wrong--is that she thinks of Temperance first and the women afterwards.
Now there's one thing I'll say to my credit," she continued;"I'm not intellectual or artistic26 or anything of that sort,but I'm jolly human." She slipped off the bed and sat on the floor,looking up at Rachel. She searched up into her face as if she weretrying to read what kind of character was concealed27 behind the face.
She put her hand on Rachel's knee.
"It _is_ being human that counts, isn't it?" she continued.
"Being real, whatever Mr. Hirst may say. Are you real?"Rachel felt much as Terence had felt that Evelyn was too closeto her, and that there was something exciting in this closeness,although it was also disagreeable. She was spared the need offinding an answer to the question, for Evelyn proceeded, "Do you_believe_ in anything?"In order to put an end to the scrutiny28 of these bright blue eyes,and to relieve her own physical restlessness, Rachel pushed backher chair and exclaimed, "In everything!" and began to fingerdifferent objects, the books on the table, the photographs,the freshly leaved plant with the stiff bristles29, which stoodin a large earthenware30 pot in the window.
"I believe in the bed, in the photographs, in the pot, in the balcony,in the sun, in Mrs. Flushing," she remarked, still speaking recklessly,with something at the back of her mind forcing her to say the thingsthat one usually does not say. "But I don't believe in God,I don't believe in Mr. Bax, I don't believe in the hospital nurse.
I don't believe--" She took up a photograph and, looking at it,did not finish her sentence.
"That's my mother," said Evelyn, who remained sitting on the floorbinding her knees together with her arms, and watching Rachel curiously31.
Rachel considered the portrait. "Well, I don't much believe in her,"she remarked after a time in a low tone of voice.
Mrs. Murgatroyd looked indeed as if the life had been crushedout of her; she knelt on a chair, gazing piteously from behindthe body of a Pomeranian dog which she clasped to her cheek,as if for protection.
"And that's my dad," said Evelyn, for there were two photographsin one frame. The second photograph represented a handsomesoldier with high regular features and a heavy black moustache;his hand rested on the hilt of his sword; there was a decidedlikeness between him and Evelyn.
"And it's because of them," said Evelyn, "that I'm goingto help the other women. You've heard about me, I suppose?
They weren't married, you see; I'm not anybody in particular.
I'm not a bit ashamed of it. They loved each other anyhow,and that's more than most people can say of their parents."Rachel sat down on the bed, with the two pictures in her hands,and compared them--the man and the woman who had, so Evelyn said,loved each other. That fact interested her more than the campaignon behalf of unfortunate women which Evelyn was once more beginningto describe. She looked again from one to the other.
"What d'you think it's like," she asked, as Evelyn paused for a minute,"being in love?""Have you never been in love?" Evelyn asked. "Oh no--one's onlygot to look at you to see that," she added. She considered.
"I really was in love once," she said. She fell into reflection,her eyes losing their bright vitality and approaching something likean expression of tenderness. "It was heavenly!--while it lasted.
The worst of it is it don't last, not with me. That's the bother."She went on to consider the difficulty with Alfred and Sinclairabout which she had pretended to ask Rachel's advice. But she didnot want advice; she wanted intimacy32. When she looked at Rachel,who was still looking at the photographs on the bed, she could nothelp seeing that Rachel was not thinking about her. What was shethinking about, then? Evelyn was tormented33 by the little spark oflife in her which was always trying to work through to other people,and was always being rebuffed. Falling silent she looked ather visitor, her shoes, her stockings, the combs in her hair,all the details of her dress in short, as though by seizing everydetail she might get closer to the life within.
Rachel at last put down the photographs, walked to the windowand remarked, "It's odd. People talk as much about love as theydo about religion.""I wish you'd sit down and talk," said Evelyn impatiently.
Instead Rachel opened the window, which was made in two long panes,and looked down into the garden below.
"That's where we got lost the first night," she said. "It musthave been in those bushes.""They kill hens down there," said Evelyn. "They cut their headsoff with a knife--disgusting! But tell me--what--""I'd like to explore the hotel," Rachel interrupted. She drewher head in and looked at Evelyn, who still sat on the floor.
"It's just like other hotels," said Evelyn.
That might be, although every room and passage and chairin the place had a character of its own in Rachel's eyes;but she could not bring herself to stay in one place any longer.
She moved slowly towards the door.
"What is it you want?" said Evelyn. "You make me feel as if youwere always thinking of something you don't say. . . . Do say it!"But Rachel made no response to this invitation either. She stoppedwith her fingers on the handle of the door, as if she rememberedthat some sort of pronouncement was due from her.
"I suppose you'll marry one of them," she said, and then turnedthe handle and shut the door behind her. She walked slowlydown the passage, running her hand along the wall beside her.
She did not think which way she was going, and therefore walkeddown a passage which only led to a window and a balcony. She lookeddown at the kitchen premises34, the wrong side of the hotel life,which was cut off from the right side by a maze35 of small bushes.
The ground was bare, old tins were scattered36 about, and the busheswore towels and aprons37 upon their heads to dry. Every now and thena waiter came out in a white apron38 and threw rubbish on to a heap.
Two large women in cotton dresses were sitting on a bench withblood-smeared tin trays in front of them and yellow bodies acrosstheir knees. They were plucking the birds, and talking as they plucked.
Suddenly a chicken came floundering, half flying, half runninginto the space, pursued by a third woman whose age could hardly beunder eighty. Although wizened39 and unsteady on her legs she keptup the chase, egged on by the laughter of the others; her face wasexpressive of furious rage, and as she ran she swore in Spanish.
Frightened by hand-clapping here, a napkin there, the bird ranthis way and that in sharp angles, and finally fluttered straightat the old woman, who opened her scanty40 grey skirts to enclose it,dropped upon it in a bundle, and then holding it out cut its headoff with an expression of vindictive41 energy and triumph combined.
The blood and the ugly wriggling42 fascinated Rachel, so that althoughshe knew that some one had come up behind and was standing43 beside her,she did not turn round until the old woman had settled down onthe bench beside the others. Then she looked up sharply, because ofthe ugliness of what she had seen. It was Miss Allan who stoodbeside her.
"Not a pretty sight," said Miss Allan, "although I daresay it'sreally more humane44 than our method. . . . I don't believe you'veever been in my room," she added, and turned away as if she meantRachel to follow her. Rachel followed, for it seemed possiblethat each new person might remove the mystery which burdened her.
The bedrooms at the hotel were all on the same pattern, save that somewere larger and some smaller; they had a floor of dark red tiles;they had a high bed, draped in mosquito curtains; they had eacha writing-table and a dressing-table, and a couple of arm-chairs.
But directly a box was unpacked45 the rooms became very different,so that Miss Allan's room was very unlike Evelyn's room.
There were no variously coloured hatpins on her dressing-table;no scent-bottles; no narrow curved pairs of scissors; no great varietyof shoes and boots; no silk petticoats lying on the chairs. The roomwas extremely neat. There seemed to be two pairs of everything.
The writing-table, however, was piled with manuscript, and a tablewas drawn46 out to stand by the arm-chair on which were two separateheaps of dark library books, in which there were many slips of papersticking out at different degrees of thickness. Miss Allan had askedRachel to come in out of kindness, thinking that she was waitingabout with nothing to do. Moreover, she liked young women, for shehad taught many of them, and having received so much hospitality fromthe Ambroses she was glad to be able to repay a minute part of it.
She looked about accordingly for something to show her. The roomdid not provide much entertainment. She touched her manuscript.
"Age of Chaucer; Age of Elizabeth; Age of Dryden," she reflected;"I'm glad there aren't many more ages. I'm still in the middle ofthe eighteenth century. Won't you sit down, Miss Vinrace? The chair,though small, is firm. . . . Euphues. The germ of the English novel,"she continued, glancing at another page. "Is that the kind of thingthat interests you?"She looked at Rachel with great kindness and simplicity47, as thoughshe would do her utmost to provide anything she wished to have.
This expression had a remarkable48 charm in a face otherwise much linedwith care and thought.
"Oh no, it's music with you, isn't it?" she continued,recollecting, "and I generally find that they don't go together.
Sometimes of course we have prodigies--" She was looking about herfor something and now saw a jar on the mantelpiece which she reacheddown and gave to Rachel. "If you put your finger into this jaryou may be able to extract a piece of preserved ginger49. Are you a prodigy50?"But the ginger was deep and could not be reached.
"Don't bother," she said, as Miss Allan looked about for someother implement51. "I daresay I shouldn't like preserved ginger.""You've never tried?" enquired52 Miss Allan. "Then I consider that itis your duty to try now. Why, you may add a new pleasure to life,and as you are still young--" She wondered whether a button-hookwould do. "I make it a rule to try everything," she said. "Don't youthink it would be very annoying if you tasted ginger for the firsttime on your death-bed, and found you never liked anything so much?
I should be so exceedingly annoyed that I think I should get wellon that account alone."She was now successful, and a lump of ginger emerged on the endof the button-hook. While she went to wipe the button-hook, Rachelbit the ginger and at once cried, "I must spit it out!""Are you sure you have really tasted it?" Miss Allan demanded.
For answer Rachel threw it out of the window.
"An experience anyhow," said Miss Allan calmly. "Let me see--I havenothing else to offer you, unless you would like to taste this."A small cupboard hung above her bed, and she took out of it a slimelegant jar filled with a bright green fluid.
"Creme de Menthe," she said. "Liqueur, you know. It looksas if I drank, doesn't it? As a matter of fact it goes to provewhat an exceptionally abstemious53 person I am. I've had that jarfor six-and-twenty years," she added, looking at it with pride,as she tipped it over, and from the height of the liquid it couldbe seen that the bottle was still untouched.
"Twenty-six years?" Rachel exclaimed.
Miss Allan was gratified, for she had meant Rachel to be surprised.
"When I went to Dresden six-and-twenty years ago," she said,"a certain friend of mine announced her intention of making mea present. She thought that in the event of shipwreck54 or accidenta stimulant55 might be useful. However, as I had no occasion for it,I gave it back on my return. On the eve of any foreign journeythe same bottle always makes its appearance, with the same note;on my return in safety it is always handed back. I consider it a kindof charm against accidents. Though I was once detained twenty-fourhours by an accident to the train in front of me, I have never metwith any accident myself. Yes," she continued, now addressingthe bottle, "we have seen many climes and cupboards together,have we not? I intend one of these days to have a silver labelmade with an inscription56. It is a gentleman, as you may observe,and his name is Oliver. . . . I do not think I could forgive you,Miss Vinrace, if you broke my Oliver," she said, firmly taking thebottle out of Rachel's hands and replacing it in the cupboard.
Rachel was swinging the bottle by the neck. She was interestedby Miss Allan to the point of forgetting the bottle.
"Well," she exclaimed, "I do think that odd; to have had a friendfor twenty-six years, and a bottle, and--to have made all those journeys.""Not at all; I call it the reverse of odd," Miss Allan replied.
"I always consider myself the most ordinary person I know.
It's rather distinguished57 to be as ordinary as I am. I forget--are you a prodigy, or did you say you were not a prodigy?"She smiled at Rachel very kindly58. She seemed to have knownand experienced so much, as she moved cumbrously about the room,that surely there must be balm for all anguish59 in her words,could one induce her to have recourse to them. But Miss Allan,who was now locking the cupboard door, showed no signs ofbreaking the reticence60 which had snowed her under for years.
An uncomfortable sensation kept Rachel silent; on the one hand,she wished to whirl high and strike a spark out of the cool pink flesh;on the other she perceived there was nothing to be done but to driftpast each other in silence.
"I'm not a prodigy. I find it very difficult to say what I mean--"she observed at length.
"It's a matter of temperament61, I believe," Miss Allan helped her.
"There are some people who have no difficulty; for myself I findthere are a great many things I simply cannot say. But then Iconsider myself very slow. One of my colleagues now, knows whethershe likes you or not--let me see, how does she do it?--by the way yousay good-morning at breakfast. It is sometimes a matter of yearsbefore I can make up my mind. But most young people seem to findit easy?""Oh no," said Rachel. "It's hard!"Miss Allan looked at Rachel quietly, saying nothing; she suspectedthat there were difficulties of some kind. Then she put her handto the back of her head, and discovered that one of the grey coilsof hair had come loose.
"I must ask you to be so kind as to excuse me," she said, rising,"if I do my hair. I have never yet found a satisfactory typeof hairpin62. I must change my dress, too, for the matter of that;and I should be particularly glad of your assistance, because thereis a tiresome63 set of hooks which I _can_ fasten for myself,but it takes from ten to fifteen minutes; whereas with your help--"She slipped off her coat and skirt and blouse, and stood doingher hair before the glass, a massive homely64 figure, her petticoatbeing so short that she stood on a pair of thick slate-grey legs.
"People say youth is pleasant; I myself find middle age far pleasanter,"she remarked, removing hair pins and combs, and taking up her brush.
When it fell loose her hair only came down to her neck.
"When one was young," she continued, "things could seem so veryserious if one was made that way. . . . And now my dress."In a wonderfully short space of time her hair had been reformed in itsusual loops. The upper half of her body now became dark green with blackstripes on it; the skirt, however, needed hooking at various angles,and Rachel had to kneel on the floor, fitting the eyes to the hooks.
"Our Miss Johnson used to find life very unsatisfactory, I remember,"Miss Allan continued. She turned her back to the light. "And thenshe took to breeding guinea-pigs for their spots, and becameabsorbed in that. I have just heard that the yellow guinea-pighas had a black baby. We had a bet of sixpence on about it.
She will be very triumphant65."The skirt was fastened. She looked at herself in the glass withthe curious stiffening66 of her face generally caused by lookingin the glass.
"Am I in a fit state to encounter my fellow-beings?" she asked.
"I forget which way it is--but they find black animals very rarelyhave coloured babies--it may be the other way round. I have hadit so often explained to me that it is very stupid of me to haveforgotten again."She moved about the room acquiring small objects with quiet force,and fixing them about her--a locket, a watch and chain, a heavygold bracelet5, and the parti-coloured button of a suffrage society.
Finally, completely equipped for Sunday tea, she stood before Rachel,and smiled at her kindly. She was not an impulsive67 woman, and herlife had schooled her to restrain her tongue. At the same time,she was possessed68 of an amount of good-will towards others,and in particular towards the young, which often made her regretthat speech was so difficult.
"Shall we descend8?" she said.
She put one hand upon Rachel's shoulder, and stooping, picked upa pair of walking-shoes with the other, and placed them neatly69 sideby side outside her door. As they walked down the passage theypassed many pairs of boots and shoes, some black and some brown,all side by side, and all different, even to the way in which theylay together.
"I always think that people are so like their boots," said Miss Allan.
"That is Mrs. Paley's--" but as she spoke70 the door opened,and Mrs. Paley rolled out in her chair, equipped also for tea.
She greeted Miss Allan and Rachel.
"I was just saying that people are so like their boots,"said Miss Allan. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated itmore loudly still. Mrs. Paley did not hear. She repeated ita third time. Mrs. Paley heard, but she did not understand.
She was apparently71 about to repeat it for the fourth time,when Rachel suddenly said something inarticulate, and disappeareddown the corridor. This misunderstanding, which involved a completeblock in the passage, seemed to her unbearable72. She walked quicklyand blindly in the opposite direction, and found herself at the endof a _cul_ _de_ _sac_. There was a window, and a table and achair in the window, and upon the table stood a rusty73 inkstand,an ashtray74, an old copy of a French newspaper, and a pen with abroken nib75. Rachel sat down, as if to study the French newspaper,but a tear fell on the blurred76 French print, raising a soft blot77.
She lifted her head sharply, exclaiming aloud, "It's intolerable!"Looking out of the window with eyes that would have seen nothingeven had they not been dazed by tears, she indulged herself at lastin violent abuse of the entire day. It had been miserable78 fromstart to finish; first, the service in the chapel79; then luncheon;then Evelyn; then Miss Allan; then old Mrs. Paley blocking upthe passage. All day long she had been tantalized80 and put off.
She had now reached one of those eminences81, the result of some crisis,from which the world is finally displayed in its true proportions.
She disliked the look of it immensely--churches, politicians, misfits,and huge impostures--men like Mr. Dalloway, men like Mr. Bax,Evelyn and her chatter82, Mrs. Paley blocking up the passage.
Meanwhile the steady beat of her own pulse represented the hot currentof feeling that ran down beneath; beating, struggling, fretting83.
For the time, her own body was the source of all the life in the world,which tried to burst forth84 here--there--and was repressed now byMr. Bax, now by Evelyn, now by the imposition of ponderous85 stupidity,the weight of the entire world. Thus tormented, she would twisther hands together, for all things were wrong, all people stupid.
Vaguely seeing that there were people down in the garden beneathshe represented them as aimless masses of matter, floating hitherand thither86, without aim except to impede87 her. What were they doing,those other people in the world?
"Nobody knows," she said. The force of her rage was beginningto spend itself, and the vision of the world which had been so vividbecame dim.
"It's a dream," she murmured. She considered the rusty inkstand,the pen, the ash-tray, and the old French newspaper. These smalland worthless objects seemed to her to represent human lives.
"We're asleep and dreaming," she repeated. But the possibilitywhich now suggested itself that one of the shapes might bethe shape of Terence roused her from her melancholy88 lethargy.
She became as restless as she had been before she sat down. She wasno longer able to see the world as a town laid out beneath her.
It was covered instead by a haze89 of feverish90 red mist. She hadreturned to the state in which she had been all day. Thinking wasno escape. Physical movement was the only refuge, in and outof rooms, in and out of people's minds, seeking she knew not what.
Therefore she rose, pushed back the table, and went downstairs.
She went out of the hall door, and, turning the corner of the hotel,found herself among the people whom she had seen from the window.
But owing to the broad sunshine after shaded passages, and tothe substance of living people after dreams, the group appearedwith startling intensity91, as though the dusty surface had beenpeeled off everything, leaving only the reality and the instant.
It had the look of a vision printed on the dark at night.
White and grey and purple figures were scattered on the green,round wicker tables, in the middle the flame of the tea-urn madethe air waver like a faulty sheet of glass, a massive green treestood over them as if it were a moving force held at rest.
As she approached, she could hear Evelyn's voice repeating monotonously,"Here then--here--good doggie, come here"; for a moment nothingseemed to happen; it all stood still, and then she realised thatone of the figures was Helen Ambrose; and the dust again beganto settle.
The group indeed had come together in a miscellaneous way;one tea-table joining to another tea-table, and deck-chairs servingto connect two groups. But even at a distance it could be seenthat Mrs. Flushing, upright and imperious, dominated the party.
She was talking vehemently92 to Helen across the table.
"Ten days under canvas," she was saying. "No comforts. If youwant comforts, don't come. But I may tell you, if you don't comeyou'll regret it all your life. You say yes?"At this moment Mrs. Flushing caught sight of Rachel.
"Ah, there's your niece. She's promised. You're coming, aren't you?"Having adopted the plan, she pursued it with the energy of a child.
Rachel took her part with eagerness.
"Of course I'm coming. So are you, Helen. And Mr. Pepper too."As she sat she realised that she was surrounded by people she knew,but that Terence was not among them. From various angles peoplebegan saying what they thought of the proposed expedition.
According to some it would be hot, but the nights would be cold;according to others, the difficulties would lie rather in getting a boat,and in speaking the language. Mrs. Flushing disposed of all objections,whether due to man or due to nature, by announcing that her husbandwould settle all that.
Meanwhile Mr. Flushing quietly explained to Helen that the expeditionwas really a simple matter; it took five days at the outside;and the place--a native village--was certainly well worth seeingbefore she returned to England. Helen murmured ambiguously,and did not commit herself to one answer rather than to another.
The tea-party, however, included too many different kinds of peoplefor general conversation to flourish; and from Rachel's pointof view possessed the great advantage that it was quite unnecessaryfor her to talk. Over there Susan and Arthur were explainingto Mrs. Paley that an expedition had been proposed; and Mrs. Paleyhaving grasped the fact, gave the advice of an old traveller that theyshould take nice canned vegetables, fur cloaks, and insect powder.
She leant over to Mrs. Flushing and whispered something whichfrom the twinkle in her eyes probably had reference to bugs93.
Then Helen was reciting "Toll94 for the Brave" to St. John Hirst,in order apparently to win a sixpence which lay upon the table;while Mr. Hughling Elliot imposed silence upon his sectionof the audience by his fascinating anecdote95 of Lord Curzonand the undergraduate's bicycle. Mrs. Thornbury was trying toremember the name of a man who might have been another Garibaldi,and had written a book which they ought to read; and Mr. Thornburyrecollected that he had a pair of binoculars96 at anybody's service.
Miss Allan meanwhile murmured with the curious intimacy which a spinsteroften achieves with dogs, to the fox-terrier which Evelyn had at lastinduced to come over to them. Little particles of dust or blossomfell on the plates now and then when the branches sighed above.
Rachel seemed to see and hear a little of everything, much as ariver feels the twigs97 that fall into it and sees the sky above,but her eyes were too vague for Evelyn's liking98. She came across,and sat on the ground at Rachel's feet.
"Well?" she asked suddenly. "What are you thinking about?""Miss Warrington," Rachel replied rashly, because she had tosay something. She did indeed see Susan murmuring to Mrs. Elliot,while Arthur stared at her with complete confidence in his own love.
Both Rachel and Evelyn then began to listen to what Susan was saying.
"There's the ordering and the dogs and the garden, and the childrencoming to be taught," her voice proceeded rhythmically99 as if checkingthe list, "and my tennis, and the village, and letters to writefor father, and a thousand little things that don't sound much;but I never have a moment to myself, and when I got to bed,I'm so sleepy I'm off before my head touches the pillow. Besides Ilike to be a great deal with my Aunts--I'm a great bore, aren't I,Aunt Emma?" (she smiled at old Mrs. Paley, who with head slightlydrooped was regarding the cake with speculative100 affection), "andfather has to be very careful about chills in winter which meansa great deal of running about, because he won't look after himself,any more than you will, Arthur! So it all mounts up!"Her voice mounted too, in a mild ecstasy101 of satisfaction with her lifeand her own nature. Rachel suddenly took a violent dislike to Susan,ignoring all that was kindly, modest, and even pathetic about her.
She appeared insincere and cruel; she saw her grown stout102 and prolific,the kind blue eyes now shallow and watery103, the bloom of the cheekscongealed to a network of dry red canals.
Helen turned to her. "Did you go to church?" she asked.
She had won her sixpence and seemed making ready to go.
"Yes," said Rachel. "For the last time," she added.
In preparing to put on her gloves, Helen dropped one.
"You're not going?" Evelyn asked, taking hold of one gloveas if to keep them.
"It's high time we went," said Helen. "Don't you see how silentevery one's getting--?"A silence had fallen upon them all, caused partly by one of theaccidents of talk, and partly because they saw some one approaching.
Helen could not see who it was, but keeping her eyes fixed104 upon Rachelobserved something which made her say to herself, "So it's Hewet."She drew on her gloves with a curious sense of the significanceof the moment. Then she rose, for Mrs. Flushing had seen Hewet too,and was demanding information about rivers and boats which showedthat the whole conversation would now come over again.
Rachel followed her, and they walked in silence down the avenue.
In spite of what Helen had seen and understood, the feeling that wasuppermost in her mind was now curiously perverse105; if she went onthis expedition, she would not be able to have a bath, the effortappeared to her to be great and disagreeable.
"It's so unpleasant, being cooped up with people one hardly knows,"she remarked. "People who mind being seen naked.""You don't mean to go?" Rachel asked.
The intensity with which this was spoken irritated Mrs. Ambrose.
"I don't mean to go, and I don't mean not to go," she replied.
She became more and more casual and indifferent.
"After all, I daresay we've seen all there is to be seen;and there's the bother of getting there, and whatever theymay say it's bound to be vilely106 uncomfortable."For some time Rachel made no reply; but every sentence Helen spokeincreased her bitterness. At last she broke out--"Thank God, Helen, I'm not like you! I sometimes think you don't thinkor feel or care to do anything but exist! You're like Mr. Hirst.
You see that things are bad, and you pride yourself on saying so.
It's what you call being honest; as a matter of fact it's being lazy,being dull, being nothing. You don't help; you put an endto things."Helen smiled as if she rather enjoyed the attack.
"Well?" she enquired.
"It seems to me bad--that's all," Rachel replied.
"Quite likely," said Helen.
At any other time Rachel would probably have been silenced by herAunt's candour; but this afternoon she was not in the mood to besilenced by any one. A quarrel would be welcome.
"You're only half alive," she continued.
"Is that because I didn't accept Mr. Flushing's invitation?"Helen asked, "or do you always think that?"At the moment it appeared to Rachel that she had always seen the samefaults in Helen, from the very first night on board the _Euphrosyne_,in spite of her beauty, in spite of her magnanimity and their love.
"Oh, it's only what's the matter with every one!" she exclaimed.
"No one feels--no one does anything but hurt. I tell you, Helen,the world's bad. It's an agony, living, wanting--"Here she tore a handful of leaves from a bush and crushed themto control herself.
"The lives of these people," she tried to explain, the aimlessness,the way they live. One goes from one to another, and it's all the same.
One never gets what one wants out of any of them."Her emotional state and her confusion would have made her an easyprey if Helen had wished to argue or had wished to draw confidences.
But instead of talking she fell into a profound silence as theywalked on. Aimless, trivial, meaningless, oh no--what shehad seen at tea made it impossible for her to believe that.
The little jokes, the chatter, the inanities107 of the afternoon hadshrivelled up before her eyes. Underneath108 the likings and spites,the comings together and partings, great things were happening--terrible things, because they were so great. Her sense of safetywas shaken, as if beneath twigs and dead leaves she had seenthe movement of a snake. It seemed to her that a moment's respitewas allowed, a moment's make-believe, and then again the profoundand reasonless law asserted itself, moulding them all to its liking,making and destroying.
She looked at Rachel walking beside her, still crushing the leavesin her fingers and absorbed in her own thoughts. She was in love,and she pitied her profoundly. But she roused herself fromthese thoughts and apologised. "I'm very sorry," she said,"but if I'm dull, it's my nature, and it can't be helped." If itwas a natural defect, however, she found an easy remedy, for she wenton to say that she thought Mr. Flushing's scheme a very good one,only needing a little consideration, which it appeared she had givenit by the time they reached home. By that time they had settledthat if anything more was said, they would accept the invitation.
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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dabbing
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| 石面凿毛，灰泥抛毛 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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inebriate
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| v.使醉 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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bristles
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| 短而硬的毛发，刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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shipwreck
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| n.船舶失事，海难 | |
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stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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hairpin
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| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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ashtray
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| n.烟灰缸 | |
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nib
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| n.钢笔尖；尖头 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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tantalized
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| v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eminences
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| 卓越( eminence的名词复数 )； 著名； 高地； 山丘 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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impede
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，阻止 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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anecdote
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| n.轶事，趣闻，短故事 | |
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binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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99
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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100
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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101
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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103
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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104
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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105
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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106
vilely
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| adv.讨厌地，卑劣地 | |
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107
inanities
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| n.空洞( inanity的名词复数 )；浅薄；愚蠢；空洞的言行 | |
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108
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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