Howards End - E. M. Forster (world of reading .txt) 📗

him at the Six Hills, covered with spring herbage. Noting her colour, he grew still more kind.

“I see that you feel as I felt when⁠—My poor little wife! Oh, be brave! Just one or two questions, and I have done with you. Was your sister wearing a wedding-ring?”

Margaret stammered a “No.”

There was an appalling silence.

“Henry, I really came to ask a favour about Howards End.”

“One point at a time. I am now obliged to ask for the name of her seducer.”

She rose to her feet and held the chair between them. Her colour had ebbed, and she was grey. It did not displease him that she should receive his question thus.

“Take your time,” he counselled her. “Remember that this is far worse for me than for you.”

She swayed; he feared she was going to faint. Then speech came, and she said slowly: “Seducer? No; I do not know her seducer’s name.”

“Would she not tell you?”

“I never even asked her who seduced her,” said Margaret, dwelling on the hateful word thoughtfully.

“That is singular.” Then he changed his mind. “Natural perhaps, dear girl, that you shouldn’t ask. But until his name is known, nothing can be done. Sit down. How terrible it is to see you so upset! I knew you weren’t fit for it. I wish I hadn’t taken you.”

Margaret answered, “I like to stand, if you don’t mind, for it gives me a pleasant view of the Six Hills.”

“As you like.”

“Have you anything else to ask me, Henry?”

“Next you must tell me whether you have gathered anything. I have often noticed your insight, dear. I only wish my own was as good. You may have guessed something, even though your sister said nothing. The slightest hint would help us.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“I thought it best to ring up Charles.”

“That was unnecessary,” said Margaret, growing warmer. “This news will give Charles disproportionate pain.”

“He has at once gone to call on your brother.”

“That too was unnecessary.”

“Let me explain, dear, how the matter stands. You don’t think that I and my son are other than gentlemen? It is in Helen’s interests that we are acting. It is still not too late to save her name.”

Then Margaret hit out for the first time. “Are we to make her seducer marry her?” she asked.

“If possible, yes.”

“But, Henry, suppose he turned out to be married already? One has heard of such cases.”

“In that case he must pay heavily for his misconduct, and be thrashed within an inch of his life.”

So her first blow missed. She was thankful of it. What had tempted her to imperil both of their lives. Henry’s obtuseness had saved her as well as himself. Exhausted with anger, she sat down again, blinking at him as he told her as much as he thought fit. At last she said: “May I ask you my question now?”

“Certainly, my dear.”

“Tomorrow Helen goes to Munich⁠—”

“Well, possibly she is right.”

“Henry, let a lady finish. Tomorrow she goes; tonight, with your permission, she would like to sleep at Howards End.”

It was the crisis of his life. Again she would have recalled the words as soon as they were uttered. She had not led up to them with sufficient care. She longed to warn him that they were far more important than he supposed. She saw him weighing them, as if they were a business proposition.

“Why Howards End?” he said at last. “Would she not be more comfortable, as I suggested, at the hotel?”

Margaret hastened to give him reasons. “It is an odd request, but you know what Helen is and what women in her state are.” He frowned, and moved irritably. “She has the idea that one night in your house would give her pleasure and do her good. I think she’s right. Being one of those imaginative girls, the presence of all our books and furniture soothes her. This is a fact. It is the end of her girlhood. Her last words to me were, ‘A beautiful ending.’ ”

“She values the old furniture for sentimental reasons, in fact.”

“Exactly. You have quite understood. It is her last hope of being with it.”

“I don’t agree there, my dear! Helen will have her share of the goods wherever she goes⁠—possibly more than her share, for you are so fond of her that you’d give her anything of yours that she fancies, wouldn’t you? and I’d raise no objection. I could understand it if it was her old home, because a home, or a house,” he changed the word, designedly; he had thought of a telling point⁠—“because a house in which one has once lived becomes in a sort of way sacred, I don’t know why. Associations and so on. Now Helen has no associations with Howards End, though I and Charles and Evie have. I do not see why she wants to stay the night there. She will only catch cold.”

“Leave it that you don’t see,” cried Margaret. “Call it fancy. But realise that fancy is a scientific fact. Helen is fanciful, and wants to.”

Then he surprised her⁠—a rare occurrence. He shot an unexpected bolt. “If she wants to sleep one night she may want to sleep two. We shall never get her out of the house, perhaps.”

“Well?” said Margaret, with the precipice in sight. “And suppose we don’t get her out of the house? Would it matter? She would do no one any harm.”

Again the irritated gesture.

“No, Henry,” she panted, receding. “I didn’t mean that. We will only trouble Howards End for this one night. I take her to London tomorrow⁠—”

“Do you intend to sleep in a damp house, too?”

“She cannot be left alone.”

“That’s quite impossible! Madness. You must be here to meet Charles.”

“I have already told you that your message to Charles was unnecessary, and I have no desire to meet him.”

“Margaret⁠—my Margaret.”

“What has this business to do with Charles? If it concerns me little, it concerns you less, and Charles not at all.”

“As the future owner of Howards End,” said Mr. Wilcox arching his fingers, “I should say that it