“I think she wants a rest.”
“I told her so. But resting seems to make her worse. We all thought she was worse after the holidays.”
Miriam’s eyes fell before the sudden glance of Mrs. Green’s blue green eye. She must have seen her private vision of life in the great rich house … misery, death with no escape. But they had Eve. Eve did not know what was killing her. She liked being tied to people.
“She is very nervous.”
“Yes. I know it’s only nerves. I’ve told her that.”
“But you don’t know what nerves are. They’re not just nothing. …”
“You’re not nervous.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Not in the way Hendie is. You’re a solid little person.”
Miriam laughed and thought of Germany and Newlands and Banbury Park. But this house would be a thousand times worse. There was no one in it who knew anything about anything. That was why when she was not too bad Eve thought it was good for her to be there.
“I think she’s very happy here.”
“I’m glad you think that. But something must be done. She can’t go on with these perpetual headaches and sleeplessness and attacks of weepiness.”
“I think she wants a long rest.”
“What does she do with her holidays? Doesn’t she rest then?”
“Yes, but there are always worries,” said Miriam desperately.
“You have had a good deal of worry—how is your father?”
How much do you know about that. … How does it strike you. …
“He is all right, I think.”
“He lives with your eldest sister.”
“Yes.”
“That’s very nice for him. I expect the little grandson will be a great interest.”
“Yes.”
“And your youngest sister has a little girl?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like children?”
“Yes.”
“I expect you spend a good deal of your time with your sisters.”
“Well—it’s a fearful distance.” Why didn’t you ask me all these things when I was staying with you. There’s no time now. …
“Do you like living alone in London?”
“Well—I’m fearfully busy.”
“I expect you are. I think it’s wonderful. But you must be awfully lonely sometimes.”
Miriam fidgeted and wondered how to go.
“Well—come down and see us again. I’m glad I had this chance of talking to you about Hendie.”
“Perhaps she’ll be better in the winter. I think she’s really better in the cold weather.”
“Well—we’ll hope so,” said Mrs. Green getting up. “I can’t think what’s the matter with her. There’s nothing to worry her down here.”
“No,” said Miriam emphatically in a worldly tone of departure. “Thank you so much for having me,” she said feebly as they passed through the flower-scented hall the scent of the flowers hanging delicately within the stronger odour of the large wood-fire.
“I’m glad you came. We thought it would be nice for both of you.”
“Yes it was very kind of you. I’m sure she wants a complete rest.” Away from us away from you in some new place. …
In the open light of the garden Mrs. Green’s eyes were almost invisible points. She ought to do her hair smaller. The fashionable bundle of little sausages did not suit a large head. The eyes looked more sunken and dead than Eve’s with her many headaches. But she was strong—a strong hard thundercloud at breakfast. Perhaps very unhappy. But wealthy. Strong, cruel wealth, eating up lives it did not understand. How did Eve manage to read Music and Morals and Olive Schreiner here?
XXVIII
“Miss Dear to see you Miss.”
“Is there anyone else in the waiting room?”
“No miss—nobody.”
Miriam went in briskly. … “Well? How is the decayed gentlewoman?” she said briskly from the doorway. She hardly looked. She had taken in the close-fitting bonnet and chin bow and the height-giving look of the long blue uniform cloak together with the general aspect of the heavily shaded afternoon room. …
“Oh, she’s very well.”
Miss Dear had stood quite still in her place halfway down the room between the sofa and the littered waiting room table. She made a small controlled movement with her right hand as Miriam approached. Miriam paused with her hand on a “Navy League,” absorbed in the low sweet even tone. She found herself standing reverently, pulled up a few inches from the dark figure. Suddenly she was alight with the radiance of an uncontrollable smile. Her downcast eyes were fixed upon a tall slender figure in a skimpy black dress, tendrils of fine gold hair dancing in the rough wind under a cornflower blue toque, a clear living rose-flush. … Something making one delicate figure more than the open width of the afternoon, the blue afternoon sea and sky. She looked up. The shy sweet flower pink face glowed more intensely under the cap of gold hair clasped flatly down by the blue velvet rim of the bonnet. The eyes, now like Weymouth Bay, now like Julia Doyle’s, now a clear expressionless blue, were fixed on hers; the hesitating face was breaking again into watchful speech. But there was no speech in the well-remembered outlines moulding the ominous cloak. Miriam flung out to stem the voice, rushing into phrases to open the way to the hall and the front door. Miss Dear stood smiling and laughing her little smothered obsequious laugh, just as she had done at Bognor, making one feel like a man.
“Well—I’m most frightfully busy,” wound up Miriam cheerfully turning to the door. “That’s London—isn’t it? One never has a minute.”
Miss Dear did not move. “I came to thank you for the concert tickets,” she said in the even thoughtful voice that dispersed one’s thoughts.
“Oh yes. Was it any good?”
“I enjoyed it immensely,” said Miss Dear gravely. “So did Sister North,” she added, shaking out the words in delicate laughter.
… I don’t know “Sister North.” … “Oh, good,” said Miriam opening the door.
“It was most kind of you to send them. I’m going to a case tomorrow, but
