“This book’ll be our brat. You’ve pulled it together no end. You ought to chuck your work, have a flat in town. Be general adviser to authors. …”
Queer old professor Bolly, pink and white and loud checks, standing outside the summer house in the brilliant sun.
“Is this the factory?”
“This is the factory.”
“Does he dictate to you?”
“My dear Bolly. … Have five minutes; have half a minute’s conversation with Miss Henderson and then, if you dare, try to imagine anyone dictating to her.”
Pink and white. Two old flamingoes. Pulling the other way. Bringing all the old conservative world into the study … sending it forward with their way of looking at the new things. Such a deep life in them that old age and artificial teeth and veined hands did not obscure their youth. Worldly happy religious musical Englishpeople.
“The Barrie question turns solely upon the question of romance. You cannot, dear young lady, hesitate over Barrie. You must either adore, or detest. With equal virulence. I am one of the adorers. Romance, for me, is the ultimate reality. … Seen through a glass darkly. …”
On the other side of the room Mrs. Bolly was telling her tales of Bayreuth. They were both untouched by the Wilson atmosphere. Not clever. They brought a glow like firelight; as if the cold summer hearth were alight, as the scenes from their stories came into the room and stood clear.
The second afternoon Hypo stretched out on the study lounge, asleep, compact and calm in the sunlight like a crusader on a tomb, till just before they went.
“There’s something unconquerable in them.”
“Yes, Miriam. Silliness is unconquerable. Poor old Gourlay; went to Greenland to get away from it. Died to get away from it.”
“Don’t go away. Camp in here. I’m all to bits. You know you’re no end of a comfort to me.”
“I can’t be. You’re hampered all the time I’m here by the silly things I say; the way I spoil your talk.”
“You’ve no idea how much I like having you about. Like the sound of your voice; the way your colour takes the sun, your laughter. I envy you your sudden laughter, Miriam; the way you lift your chin, and laugh. You’re wasted on yourself, Miriam. You don’t know the fine individual things in yourself. You’ve got all sorts of illusions, but you’ve no idea where you really score.”
“Can’t get on with anybody.”
“You get on with me all right. But you never tell me nice things about myself. You only laugh at my jokes.”
“I’ve never told you a hundredth part. There’s never any time. But I’ll tell you one nice thing. There’s a way in which ever since I’ve known you, you obliterate other men. Yes. For me. It’s most tiresome.”
“Oh, my dear! Is that true, Miriam?”
“Oh yes. From the first time I saw you. There you were. I can’t bear your ideas. But I always find myself testing other men, better men, by the way, by you.”
“I haven’t any ideas, Miriam, and I’m a reformed character. There’s heaps of time. You’re here another ten days yet. You shall camp in here. We’ll talk, devastatingly.”
“If I once began—”
“Begin. We’re going to explore each other’s minds.”
“I should bore you to death.”
“You never bore me. Really. It does me good to quarrel with Miriam. But we’re not going to quarrel. We’re going to explore each other and stop nowhere. Agreed?”
“I’ve seen you ill with boredom. You hate silence and you hate opposition. You always think people’s minds are blank when they are silent. It’s just the other way round. Only of course there are so many kinds of silence. But the test of absolutely everything in life is the quality of the in-between silences. It’s only in silence that you can judge of your relationship to a person.”
“You shall be silent. You shall deploy a whole regiment of silences … but you’ll fire off an occasional volley of speech?”
“Real speech can only come from complete silence. Incomplete silence is as fussy as deliberate conversation.”
“One has to begin somewhere. Deliberate conversation leads to real conversation. You can talk, you know, Miriam. You’re not a woman of the world. You don’t come off all the time. But when you do, you come off no end.”
If his mind could be tackled even though there were no words to answer him with, then anyone’s mind could be tackled. …
Finding him simple and sad, able to be uncertain, took away the spell from the surroundings; leaving only him. … Seeing life as he saw it, being forced to admit some of his truths, hard and cruel even if rearranged or differently stated, made the world a nightmare, a hard solid daylight nightmare, the only refuge to be, and stay, with him. Yet the giving up of perpetual opposition brought a falseness. … Smiling agreement, with unstated differences and reservations piling up all the time. … Drifting on into a false relationship.
The joy of being with him, the thing that made it worth while to flatter by seeming to agree was more than half the sense of triumphing over other women. Of being able to believe myself as interesting and charming and mysteriously wonderful as all these women we talked about, who lost their wonder as he stated their formula.
By the time the Grimshaws came everything was sad. … That is why I was so successful with them. Gay with sadness, easy to talk to, practised in conversation. Without that they would not have sought me out and carried me off by themselves and shown me their world. …
“I’ve been through a terrific catechism.”
“You’ve impressed them, Miriam. I’m jealous. They come here; to see me; and go off with Miriam.”
“Bosh. They thought I was intelligent. They don’t think so now. Besides they really were trying to interview you through
