Night and Day Part 5

'Ah, indeed. That interests me very much,' he said. 'I owe a great debt to your grandfather, Miss Hilbery. At one time I could have repeated the greater part of him by heart. But one gets out of the way of reading poetry, unfortunately. You don't remember him, I suppose?'

A sharp rap at the door made Katharine's answer inaudible. Mrs Seal looked up with renewed hope in her eyes, and exclaiming: 'The proofs at last!' ran to open the door. 'Oh, it's only Mr Denham!' she cried, without any attempt to conceal her disappointment. Ralph, Katharine supposed, was a frequent visitor, for the only person he thought it necessary to greet was herself, and Mary at once explained the strange fact of her being there by saying: 'Katharine has come to see how one runs an office.'

Ralph felt himself stiffen uncomfortably, as he said: 'I hope Mary hasn't persuaded you that she knows how to run an office?'

'What, doesn't she?' said Katharine, looking from one to the other.

At these remarks Mrs Seal began to exhibit signs of discomposure, which displayed themselves by a tossing movement of her head, and, as Ralph took a letter from his pocket, and placed his finger upon a certain sentence, she forestalled him by exclaiming in confusion: 'Now, I know what you're going to say, Mr Denham! But it was the day Kit Markham was here, and she upsets one so-with her wonderful vitality, always thinking of something new that we ought to be doing and aren't-and I was conscious at the time that my dates were mixed. It had nothing to do with Mary at all, I a.s.sure you.'

'My dear Sally, don't apologize,' said Mary, laughing. 'Men are such pedants-they don't know what things matter, and what things don't.'

'Now, Denham, speak up for our s.e.x,' said Mr Clacton in a jocular manner, indeed, but like most insignificant men he was very quick to resent being found fault with by a woman, in argument with whom he was fond of calling himself 'a mere man'. He wished, however, to enter into a literary conversation with Miss Hilbery, and thus let the matter drop.

'Doesn't it seem strange to you, Miss Hilbery,' he said, 'that the French, with all their wealth of ill.u.s.trious names, have no poet who can compare with your grandfather? Let me see. There's Chenier and Hugo and Alfred de Musset aj aj-wonderful men, but, at the same time, there's a richness, a freshness about Alardyce-'

Here the telephone bell rang, and he had to absent himself with a smile and a bow which signified that, although literature is delightful, it is not work. Mrs Seal rose at the same time, but remained hovering over the table, delivering herself of a tirade against party government. 'For if I were to tell you what I know of back-stairs intrigue, and what can be done by the power of the purse, you wouldn't credit me, Mr Denham, you wouldn't, indeed. Which is why I feel that the only work for my father's daughter-for he was one of the pioneers, Mr Denham, and on his tombstone I had that verse from the Psalms put, about the sowers and the seed6 ... And what wouldn't I give that he should be alive now, seeing what we're going to see-'but reflecting that the glories of the future depended in part upon the activity of her typewriter, she bobbed her head, and hurried back to the seclusion of her little room, from which immediately issued sounds of enthusiastic, but obviously erratic, composition. ... And what wouldn't I give that he should be alive now, seeing what we're going to see-'but reflecting that the glories of the future depended in part upon the activity of her typewriter, she bobbed her head, and hurried back to the seclusion of her little room, from which immediately issued sounds of enthusiastic, but obviously erratic, composition.

Mary made it clear at once, by starting a fresh topic of general interest, that though she saw the humour of her colleague, she did not intend to have her laughed at.

'The standard of morality seems to me frightfully low,' she observed reflectively, pouring out a second cup of tea, 'especially among women who aren't well educated. They don't see that small things matter, and that's where the leakage begins, and then we find ourselves in difficulties-I very nearly lost my temper yesterday,' she went on, looking at Ralph with a little smile, as though he knew what happened when she lost her temper. 'It makes me very angry when people tell me lies-doesn't it make you angry?' she asked Katharine.

'But considering that every one tells lies,' Katharine remarked, looking about the room to see where she had put down her umbrella and her parcel, for there was an intimacy in the way in which Mary and Ralph addressed each other which made her wish to leave them. Mary, on the other hand, was anxious, superficially at least, that Katharine should stay and so fortify her in her determination not to be in love with Ralph.

Ralph, while lifting his cup from his lips to the table, had made up his mind that if Miss Hilbery left, he would go with her.

'I don't think that I tell lies, and I don't think that Ralph tells lies, do you, Ralph?'Mary continued.

Katharine laughed, with more gaiety, as it seemed to Mary, than she could properly account for. What was she laughing at? At them, presumably. Katharine had risen, and was glancing hither and thither, at the presses and the cupboards, and all the machinery of the office, as if she included them all in her rather malicious amus.e.m.e.nt, which caused Mary to keep her eyes on her straightly and rather fiercely, as if she were a gay-plumed, mischievous bird, who might light on the topmost bough and pick off the ruddiest cherry, without any warning. Two women less like each other could scarcely be imagined, Ralph thought, looking from one to the other. Next moment he, too, rose, and nodding to Mary, as Katharine said good-bye, opened the door for her, and followed her out.

Mary sat still and made no attempt to prevent them from going. For a second or two after the door had shut on them her eyes rested on the door with a straightforward fierceness in which, for a moment, a certain degree of bewilderment seemed to enter; but, after a brief hesitation, she put down her cup and proceeded to clear away the tea-things.

The impulse which had driven Ralph to take this action was the result of a very swift little piece of reasoning, and thus, perhaps, was not quite so much of an impulse as it seemed. It pa.s.sed through his mind that if he missed this chance of talking to Katharine, he would have to face an enraged ghost, when he was alone in his room again, demanding an explanation of his cowardly indecision. It was better, on the whole, to risk present discomfiture than to waste an evening bandying excuses and constructing impossible scenes with this uncompromising section of himself. For ever since he had visited the Hilberys he had been much at the mercy of a phantom Katharine, who came to him when he sat alone, and answered him as he would have her answer, and was always beside him to crown those varying triumphs which were transacted almost every night, in imaginary scenes, as he walked through the lamplit streets home from the office. To walk with Katharine in the flesh would either feed that phantom with fresh food, which, as all who nourish dreams are aware, is a process that becomes necessary from time to time, or refine it to such a degree of thinness that it was scarcely serviceable any longer; and that, too, is sometimes a welcome change to a dreamer. And all the time Ralph was well aware that the bulk of Katharine was not represented in his dreams at all, so that when he met her he was bewildered by the fact that she had nothing to do with his dream of her.

When, on reaching the street, Katharine found that Mr Denham proceeded to keep pace by her side, she was surprised and, perhaps, a little annoyed. She, too, had her margin of imagination, and tonight her activity in this obscure region of the mind required solitude. If she had had her way, she would have walked very fast down the Tottenham Court Road,ak and then sprung into a cab and raced swiftly home. The view she had had of the inside of an office was of the nature of a dream to her. Shut off up there, she compared Mrs Seal, and Mary Datchet, and Mr Clacton to enchanted people in a bewitched tower, with the spiders'webs looping across the corners of the room, and then sprung into a cab and raced swiftly home. The view she had had of the inside of an office was of the nature of a dream to her. Shut off up there, she compared Mrs Seal, and Mary Datchet, and Mr Clacton to enchanted people in a bewitched tower, with the spiders'webs looping across the corners of the room,7 and all the tools of the necromancer's craft at hand; for so aloof and unreal and apart from the normal world did they seem to her, in the house of innumerable typewriters, murmuring their incantations and concocting their drugs, and flinging their frail spiders' webs over the torrent of life which rushed down the streets outside. and all the tools of the necromancer's craft at hand; for so aloof and unreal and apart from the normal world did they seem to her, in the house of innumerable typewriters, murmuring their incantations and concocting their drugs, and flinging their frail spiders' webs over the torrent of life which rushed down the streets outside.

She may have been conscious that there was some exaggeration in this fancy of hers, for she certainly did not wish to share it with Ralph. To him, she supposed, Mary Datchet, composing leaflets for Cabinet Ministers among her typewriters, represented all that was interesting and genuine; and, accordingly, she shut them both out from all share in the crowded street, with its pendant necklace of lamps, its lighted windows, and its throng of men and women, which exhilarated her to such an extent that she very nearly forgot her companion. She walked very fast, and the effect of people pa.s.sing in the opposite direction was to produce a queer dizziness both in her head and in Ralph's, which set their bodies far apart. But she did her duty by her companion almost unconsciously.

'Mary Datchet does that sort of work very well... She's responsible for it, I suppose?'

'Yes. The others don't help at all... Has she made a convert of you?'

'Oh no. That is, I'm a convert already.'

'But she hasn't persuaded you to work for them?'

'Oh dear no-that wouldn't do at all.'

So they walked on down the Tottenham Court Road, parting and coming together again, and Ralph felt much as though he were addressing the summit of a poplar in a high gale of wind.

'Suppose we get on to that omnibus?' he suggested.

Katharine acquiesced, and they climbed up, and found themselves alone on top of it.

'But which way are you going?' Katharine asked, waking a little from the trance into which movement among moving things had thrown her.

'I'm going to the Temple,'al Ralph replied, inventing a destination on the spur of the moment. He felt the change come over her as they sat down and the omnibus began to move forward. He imagined her contemplating the avenue in front of them with those honest sad eyes which seemed to set him at such a distance from them. But the breeze was blowing in their faces, and it lifted her hat for a second, and she drew out a pin and stuck it in again, a little action which seemed, for some reason, to make her rather more fallible. Ah, if only her hat would blow off, and leave her altogether dishevelled, accepting it from his hands! Ralph replied, inventing a destination on the spur of the moment. He felt the change come over her as they sat down and the omnibus began to move forward. He imagined her contemplating the avenue in front of them with those honest sad eyes which seemed to set him at such a distance from them. But the breeze was blowing in their faces, and it lifted her hat for a second, and she drew out a pin and stuck it in again, a little action which seemed, for some reason, to make her rather more fallible. Ah, if only her hat would blow off, and leave her altogether dishevelled, accepting it from his hands!

'This is like Venice,' she observed, raising her hand. 'The motor-cars, I mean, shooting about so quickly, with their lights.'

'I've never seen Venice,' he replied. 'I keep that and some other things for my old age.'

'What are the other things?' she asked.

'There's Venice and India and, I think, Dante, too.'

She laughed.

'Think of providing for one's old age! And would you refuse to see Venice if you had the chance?'

Instead of answering her, he wondered whether he should tell her something that was quite true about himself; and as he wondered, he told her.

'I've planned out my life in sections ever since I was a child, to make it last longer. You see, I'm always afraid that I'm missing something-'

And so am I!' Katharine exclaimed. 'But, after all,' she added, 'why should you miss anything?'

'Why? Because I'm poor, for one thing,' Ralph rejoined. 'You, I suppose, can have Venice and India and Dante every day of your life.'

She said nothing for a moment, but rested one hand, which was bare of glove, upon the rail in front of her, meditating upon a variety of things, of which one was that this strange young man p.r.o.nounced Dante as she was used to hearing it p.r.o.nounced, and another, that he had, most unexpectedly, a feeling about life that was familiar to her. Perhaps, then, he was the sort of person she might take an interest in, if she came to know him better, and as she had placed him among those whom she would never want to know better, this was enough to make her silent. She hastily recalled her first view of him, in the little room where the relics were kept, and ran a bar through half her impressions, as one cancels a badly written sentence, having found the right one.

'But to know that one might have things doesn't alter the fact that one hasn't got them,' she said, in some confusion. 'How could I go to India, for example? Besides,' she began impulsively, and stopped herself. Here the conductor came round, and interrupted them. Ralph waited for her to resume her sentence, but she said no more.

'I have a message to give your father,' he remarked. 'Perhaps you would give it him, or I could come-'

'Yes, do come,' Katharine replied.

'Still, I don't see why you shouldn't go to India,' Ralph began, in order to keep her from rising, as she threatened to do.

But she got up in spite of him, and said good-bye with her usual air of decision, and left him with a quickness which Ralph connected now with all her movements. He looked down and saw her standing on the pavement edge, an alert, commanding figure, which waited its season to cross, and then walked boldly and swiftly to the other side. That gesture and action would be added to the picture he had of her, but at present the real woman completely routed the phantom one.

CHAPTER VII.

AND LITTLE AUGUSTUS PELHAM Said to me, "It's the younger generation knocking at the door,"1 and I said to him, "Oh, but the younger generation comes in without knocking, Mr Pelham." Such a feeble little joke, wasn't it, but down it went into his notebook all the same.' and I said to him, "Oh, but the younger generation comes in without knocking, Mr Pelham." Such a feeble little joke, wasn't it, but down it went into his notebook all the same.'

'Let us congratulate ourselves that we shall be in the grave before that work is published,' said Mr Hilbery.

The elderly couple were waiting for the dinner-bell to ring and for their daughter to come into the room. Their arm-chairs were drawn up on either side of the fire, and each sat in the same slightly crouched position, looking into the coals, with the expressions of people who have had their share of experiences and wait, rather pa.s.sively, for something to happen. Mr Hilbery now gave all his attention to a piece of coal which had fallen out of the grate, and to selecting a favourable position for it among the lumps that were burning already. Mrs Hilbery watched him in silence, and the smile changed on her lips as if her mind still played with the events of the afternoon.

When Mr Hilbery had accomplished his task, he resumed his crouching position again, and began to toy with the little green stone attached to his watch-chain. His deep, oval-shaped eyes were fixed upon the flames, but behind the superficial glaze seemed to brood an observant and whimsical spirit, which kept the brown of the eye still unusually vivid. But a look of indolence, the result of scepticism or of a taste too fastidious to be satisfied by the prizes and conclusions so easily within his grasp, lent him an expression almost of melancholy. After sitting thus for a time, he seemed to reach some point in his thinking which demonstrated its futility, upon which he sighed and stretched his hand for a book lying on the table by his side.

Directly the door opened he closed the book, and the eyes of father and mother both rested on Katharine as she came towards them. The sight seemed at once to give them a motive which they had not had before. To them she appeared, as she walked towards them in her light evening dress, extremely young, and the sight of her refreshed them, were it only because her youth and ignorance made their knowledge of the world of some value.

'The only excuse for you, Katharine, is that dinner is still later than you are,' said Mr Hilbery, putting down his spectacles.

'I don't mind her being late when the result is so charming,' said Mrs Hilbery, looking with pride at her daughter. 'Still I don't know that I like like your being out so late, Katharine,' she continued. 'You took a cab, I hope?' your being out so late, Katharine,' she continued. 'You took a cab, I hope?'

Here dinner was announced, and Mr Hilbery formally led his wife downstairs on his arm. They were all dressed for dinner, and, indeed, the prettiness of the dinner-table merited that compliment. There was no cloth upon the table, and the china made regular circles of deep blue upon the s.h.i.+ning brown wood. In the middle there was a bowl of tawny red and yellow chrysanthemums, and one of pure white, so fresh that the narrow petals were curved backwards into a firm white ball. From the surrounding walls the heads of three famous Victorian writers surveyed this entertainment, and slips of paper pasted beneath them testified in the great man's own handwriting that he was always yours sincerely or affectionately or for ever. The father and daughter would have been quite content, apparently, to eat their dinner in silence, or with a few cryptic remarks expressed in a shorthand which could not be understood by the servants. But silence depressed Mrs Hilbery, and far from minding the presence of maids, she would often address herself to them, and was never altogether unconscious of their approval or disapproval of her remarks. In the first place she called them to witness that the room was darker than usual, and had all the lights turned on.

'That's more cheerful,' she exclaimed. 'D'you know, Katharine, that ridiculous goose came to tea with me? Oh, how I wanted you! He tried to make epigrams all the time, and I got so nervous, expecting them, you know, that I spilt the tea-and he made an epigram about that!'

'Which ridiculous goose?' Katharine asked her father.

'Only one of my geese, happily, makes epigrams-Augustus Pelham, of course,' said Mrs Hilbery.

'I'm not sorry that I was out,' said Katharine.

'Poor Augustus!' Mrs Hilbery exclaimed. 'But we're all too hard on him. Remember how devoted he is to his tiresome old mother.'

'That's only because she is his mother. Any one connected with himself-'

'No, no, Katharine-that's too bad. That's-what's the word I mean, Trevor, something long and Latin-the sort of word you and Katharine know-'

Mr Hilbery suggested 'cynical'.

'Well, that'll do. I don't believe in sending girls to college, but I should teach them that sort of thing. It makes one feel so dignified, bringing out these little allusions, and pa.s.sing on gracefully to the next topic. But I don't know what's come over me-I actually had to ask Augustus the name of the lady Hamlet was in love with,2 as you were out, Katharine, and Heaven knows what he mayn't put down about me in his diary.' as you were out, Katharine, and Heaven knows what he mayn't put down about me in his diary.'

'I wish,' Katharine started, with great impetuosity, and checked herself. Her mother always stirred her to feel and think quickly, and then she remembered that her father was there, listening with attention.

'What is it you wish?' he asked, as she paused.

He often surprised her, thus, into telling him what she had not meant to tell him; and then they argued, while Mrs Hilbery went on with her own thoughts.

'I wish mother wasn't famous. I was out at tea, and they would talk to me about poetry.'

'Thinking you must be poetical, I see-and aren't you?'

'Who's been talking to you about poetry, Katharine?' Mrs Hilbery demanded, and Katharine was committed to giving her parents an account of her visit to the Suffrage office.

'They have an office at the top of one of the old houses in Russell Square. I never saw such queer-looking people. And the man discovered I was related to the poet, and talked to me about poetry. Even Mary Datchet seems different in that atmosphere.'

'Yes, the office atmosphere is very bad for the soul,' said Mr Hilbery.

'I don't remember any offices in Russell Square in the old days, when Mamma lived there,' Mrs Hilbery mused, 'and I can't fancy turning one of those n.o.ble great rooms into a stuffy little Suffrage office. Still, if the clerks read poetry there must be something nice about them.'

'No, because they don't read it as we read it,' Katharine insisted.

'But it's nice to think of them reading your grandfather, and not filling up those dreadful little forms all day long,' Mrs Hilbery persisted, her notion of office life derived from some chance view of a scene behind the counter at her bank, as she slipped her sovereigns into her purse.

'At any rate, they haven't made a convert of Katharine, which was what I was afraid of,' Mr Hilbery remarked.

'Oh no,' said Katharine very decidedly, 'I wouldn't work with them for anything.'

'It's curious,' Mr Hilbery continued, agreeing with his daughter, 'how the sight of one's fellow-enthusiasts always chokes one off. They show up the faults of one's cause so much more plainly than one's antagonists. One can be enthusiastic in one's study, but directly one comes into touch with the people who agree with one, all the glamour goes. So I've always found,' and he proceeded to tell them, as he peeled his apple, how he committed himself once, in his youthful days, to make a speech at a political meeting, and went there ablaze with enthusiasm for the ideals of his own side; but while his leaders spoke, he became gradually converted to the other way of thinking, if thinking it could be called, and had to feign illness in order to avoid making a fool of himself-an experience which had sickened him of public meetings.

Katharine listened and felt as she generally did when her father, and to some extent her mother, described their feelings, that she quite understood and agreed with them, but, at the same time, saw something which they did not see, and always felt some disappointment when they fell short of her vision, as they always did. The plates succeeded each other swiftly and noiselessly in front of her, and the table was decked for dessert, and as the talk murmured on in familiar grooves, she sat there, rather like a judge, listening to her parents, who did, indeed, feel it very pleasant when they made her laugh.

Daily life in a house where there are young and old is full of curious little ceremonies and pieties, which are discharged quite punctually, though the meaning of them is obscure, and a mystery has come to brood over them which lends even a superst.i.tious charm to their performance. Such was the nightly ceremony of the cigar and the gla.s.s of port, which were placed on the right hand and on the left hand of Mr Hilbery, and simultaneously Mrs Hilbery and Katharine left the room. All the years they had lived together they had never seen Mr Hilbery smoke his cigar or drink his port, and they would have felt it unseemly if, by chance, they had surprised him as he sat there. These short, but clearly marked, periods of separation between the s.e.xes were always used for an intimate postscript to what had been said at dinner, the sense of being women together coming out most strongly when the male s.e.x was, as if by some religious rite, secluded from the female. Katharine knew by heart the sort of mood that possessed her as she walked upstairs to the drawing-room, her mother's arm in hers; and she could antic.i.p.ate the pleasure with which, when she had turned on the lights, they both regarded the drawing-room, fresh swept and set in order for the last section of the day, with the red parrots swinging on the chintz curtains, and the arm-chairs warming in the blaze. Mrs Hilbery stood over the fire, with one foot on the fender, and her skirts slightly raised.

'Oh, Katharine,' she exclaimed, 'how you've made me think of Mamma and the old days in Russell Square! I can see the chandeliers, and the green silk of the piano, and Mamma sitting in her cashmere shawl by the window, singing till the little ragam.u.f.fin boys outside stopped to listen. Papa sent me in with a bunch of violets while he waited round the corner. It must have been a summer evening. That was before things were hopeless...'

As she spoke an expression of regret, which must have come frequently to cause the lines which now grew deep round the lips and eyes, settled on her face. The poet's marriage had not been a happy one. He had left his wife, and after some years of a rather reckless existence, she had died, before her time. This disaster had led to great irregularities of education, and, indeed, Mrs Hilbery might be said to have escaped education altogether. But she had been her father's companion at the season when he wrote the finest of his poems. She had sat on his knee in taverns and other haunts of drunken poets, and it was for her sake, so people said, that he had cured himself of his dissipation, and become the irreproachable literary character that the world knows, whose inspiration had deserted him. As Mrs Hilbery grew old she thought more and more of the past, and this ancient disaster seemed at times almost to prey upon her mind, as if she could not pa.s.s out of life herself without laying the ghost of her parent's sorrow to rest.

Katharine wished to comfort her mother, but it was difficult to do this satisfactorily when the facts themselves were so much of a legend. The house in Russell Square, for example, with its n.o.ble rooms, and the magnolia-tree in the garden, and the sweet-voiced piano, and the sound of feet coming down the corridors, and other properties of size and romance-had they any existence? Yet why should Mrs Alardyce live all alone in this gigantic mansion, and, if she did not live alone, with whom did she live? For its own sake, Katharine rather liked this tragic story, and would have been glad to hear the details of it, and to have been able to discuss them frankly. But this it became less and less possible to do, for though Mrs Hilbery was constantly reverting to the story, it was always in this tentative and restless fas.h.i.+on, as though by a touch here and there she could set things straight which had been crooked these sixty years. Perhaps, indeed, she no longer knew what the truth was.

'If they'd lived now,' she concluded, 'I feel it wouldn't have happened. People aren't so set upon tragedy as they were then. If my father had been able to go round the world, or if she'd had a rest cure, everything would have come right. But what could I do? And then they had bad friends, both of them, who made mischief. Ah, Katharine, when you marry, be quite, quite sure that you love your husband!'

The tears stood in Mrs Hilbery's eyes.

While comforting her, Katharine thought to herself, 'Now this is what Mary Datchet and Mr Denham don't understand. This is the sort of position I'm always getting into. How simple it must be to live as they do!' for all the evening she had been comparing her home and her father and mother with the Suffrage office and the people there.

'But, Katharine,' Mrs Hilbery continued, with one of her sudden changes of mood, 'though, Heaven knows, I don't want to see you married, surely if ever a man loved a woman, William loves you. And it's a nice, rich-sounding name too-Katharine Rodney, which, unfortunately, doesn't mean that he's got any money, because he hasn't.'

The alteration of her name annoyed Katharine, and she observed, rather sharply, that she didn't want to marry any one.

'It's very dull that you can only marry one husband certainly,' Mrs Hilbery reflected. 'I always wish that you could marry everybody who wants to marry you. Perhaps they'll come to that in time, but meanwhile I confess that dear William-' But here Mr Hilbery came in, and the more solid part of the evening began. This consisted in the reading aloud by Katharine from some prose work or other, while her mother knitted scarves intermittently on a little circular frame, and her father read the newspaper, not so attentively but that he could comment humorously now and again upon the fortunes of the hero and the heroine. The Hilberys subscribed to a library,3 which delivered books on Tuesdays and Fridays, and Katharine did her best to interest her parents in the works of living and highly respectable authors; but Mrs Hilbery was perturbed by the very look of the light, gold-wreathed volumes, and would make little faces as if she tasted something bitter as the reading went on; while Mr Hilbery would treat the moderns with a curious elaborate banter such as one might apply to the antics of a promising child. So this evening, after five pages or so of one of these masters, Mrs Hilbery protested that it was all too clever and cheap and nasty for words. which delivered books on Tuesdays and Fridays, and Katharine did her best to interest her parents in the works of living and highly respectable authors; but Mrs Hilbery was perturbed by the very look of the light, gold-wreathed volumes, and would make little faces as if she tasted something bitter as the reading went on; while Mr Hilbery would treat the moderns with a curious elaborate banter such as one might apply to the antics of a promising child. So this evening, after five pages or so of one of these masters, Mrs Hilbery protested that it was all too clever and cheap and nasty for words.

'Please, Katharine, read us something real. real.'

Katharine had to go to the bookcase and choose a portly volume in sleek, yellow calf, which had directly a sedative effect upon both her parents. But the delivery of the evening post broke in upon the periods of Henry Fielding,am and Katharine found that her letters needed all her attention. and Katharine found that her letters needed all her attention.

CHAPTER VIII.

SHE TOOK HER LETTERS up to her room with her, having persuaded her mother to go to bed directly Mr Hilbery left them, for so long as she sat in the same room as her mother, Mrs Hilbery might, at any moment, ask for a sight of the post. A very hasty glance through many sheets had shown Katharine that, by some coincidence, her attention had to be directed to many different anxieties simultaneously. In the first place, Rodney had written a very full account of his state of mind, which was ill.u.s.trated by a sonnet, and he demanded a reconsideration of their position, which agitated Katharine more than she liked. Then there were two letters which had to be laid side by side and compared before she could make out the truth of their story, and even when she knew the facts she could not decide what to make of them; and finally she had to reflect upon a great many pages from a cousin who found himself in financial difficulties, which forced him to the uncongenial occupation of teaching the young ladies of Bungayan to play upon the violin. to play upon the violin.