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"Hasn't he?" Ellen answered smiling.
"Really, this cab. I wonder what Mortimers were doing, not sending us a taxi. On a day like this too."
"Yes, thanks."
"Which means," said Mary, "that he's been telling you how young you are."
"See!" he put his hands on her shoulders staring into her eyes, "I oughtn't to have kissed you like that just now. It wasn't right. I'm going to begin properly now. Dear Millicent, will you marry me?"
"If you've made those notes on Cadell and Constable, Trenchard," he added, "during these last days in the country, I shall be very glad to have them."
"Yes. Indeed. . . ." retorted Henry indignantly. "I think it's disgusting. Here's Duncombe, one of the finest men who's ever lived. . . ."
Oh, Henry understood that well enough. But didn't all women despise all men unless they were in love with them or wanted to be in love with them or had helped to produce them?
"Would you really?" He flushed slowly with pleasure. "And will you tell me about mine too? Is that a bargain?"
"And so shoulder your responsibilities like a true British citizen," said Duncombe. "I'm sure you're right. You're lucky to be able to get away so easily."
Henry seemed to be miles away from any human company. Not a sound came to him save the rain and the driving branches.[Pg 160] He washed his hands, brushed his hair, and prepared to find his way downstairs, but beside the door he paused. As he had fancied in the library in Hill Street, so now again it seemed to him that something was whispering to him, begging him for sympathy and understanding. He looked back to the little chill room, then up to the portrait of the priest, then to the window beyond which he could see the thin grey twilight changing to the rainy dark. He stood listening, then with a little shiver, half of pleasure, half of apprehension, he went out into the passage.
They stood silently staring at one another for a moment, then Duncombe said:
"I'm a silly old woman," Victoria said, shaking her head. "But I do wish you liked the pink, Millie dear. It will be so nice at night with the lightsso gay."
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Henry stood for a moment irresolute.
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"Well, I needn't worry about it," said Victoria, "because I've got Mereward, who is quite another sort of man." She drank her tea, and then reflectively added: "Do you realize, Millie, darling, that you've stuck to me a whole eight months, and that we're more 'stuck' so to speak than we were at the beginning?"
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"You won't mind if you keep our engagement dark for a week or two?" he asked.
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"Shyness is a very difficult thing," said Henry. "I've suffered from it all my lifepartly because I'm conceited and partly because I'm not conceited enough."
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He walked up and down his room, lurching a little from leg to leg like a sailor on his deck. Yes, he was awfully pleasedawfully pleased. . . . Somebody wanted him. Somebody thought his opinion worth having.
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Henry said: "Won't you take me as I am? Your mother doesn't know me. I want to be your friend. I've wanted to from the first moment I saw you in Piccadilly Circus."
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"Friend? What friend?"
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Henry climbed the little staircase into the gallery and moved into the dusky corners. He came to the place that he always loved best, where the old English novelists were, Bage and Mackenzie and absurd Clara Reeved and Mrs. Opie and Godwin.
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Bunny arrived. She was in his arms and they were moving slowly around the room. She saw nothing, only felt that it was very hot. The negro band suddenly leapt out upon them, as though bursting forth from some hidden fastness. The glass roof, with its diamonds, becked and bowed, bending toward them like a vast string to a bow. Soon it would snap and where would they be? Bunny held her very close to him. Their hearts were like voices jumping together, trying to catch some common note with which they were both just out of tune.
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"Aren't you clever?" said Millie admiringly.
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She took a chair and sat down and stared at the bed. . . . The Marylebone Church struck half-past seven and woke Mary. She looked up, staring, then in the dim light saw Millie sitting there.
With a stiff nod to Baxter, he was gone.
The girl moved to the door. Henry opened it for her. On the other side was standing a large heavy man, some country-fellow he seemed, young, brown-faced, in rough blue clothes.
All these tales she told with the most innocent intentions in the world, being one, as she often assured her friends, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Victoria believed every word that fell from her lips and adored to believe.
He had not the gift of making others enthusiastic, of firing their intelligence. Only Millie and Henry, and perhaps James Maradick and Bobby Galleon were able to see him as he really was. With others he always thought of the thing that he was going to say before he said it; then, finding it priggish, or sententious, or platitudinous, didn't say it after all. No wonder men found him dull!
"And what about the people who get worse instead of better? It's rather hard luck on them. It isn't their fault half the time."
[Pg 178]
So far Mr. Bennett and a Victory cannot exactly be claimed for Millie in this encounter. She was furious. She was miserable. Was she so conceited? She'd ask Henry. She did ask the little doctor, who told her"No. Only a little self-confident." He was her only friend and support in these days.