Howards End

days, and Margaret had again to regret her sister’s lack of self–control. In a long letter she pointed out the need of charity in sexual matters; so little is known about them; it is hard enough for those who are personally touched to judge; then how futile must be the verdict of Society. "I don’t say there is no standard, for that would destroy morality; only that there can be no standard until our impulses are classified and better understood." Helen thanked her for her kind letter—rather a curious reply. She moved south again, and spoke of wintering in Naples.
    Mr. Wilcox was not sorry that the meeting failed. Helen left him time to grow skin over his wound. There were still moments when it pained him. Had he only known that Margaret was awaiting him—Margaret, so lively and intelligent, and yet so submissive—he would have kept himself worthier of her. Incapable of grouping the past, he confused the episode of Jacky with another episode that had taken place in the days of his bachelorhood. The two made one crop of wild oats, for which he was heartily sorry, and he could not see that those oats are of a darker stock which are rooted in another’s dishonour. Unchastity and infidelity were as confused to him as to the Middle Ages, his only moral teacher. Ruth (poor old Ruth!) did not enter into his calculations at all, for poor old Ruth had never found him out.
    His affection for his present wife grew steadily. Her cleverness gave him no trouble, and, indeed, he liked to see her reading poetry or something about social questions; it distinguished her from the wives of other men. He had only to call, and she clapped the book up and was ready to do what he wished. Then they would argue so jollily, and once or twice she had him in quite a tight corner, but as soon as he grew really serious, she gave in. Man is for war, woman for the recreation of the warrior, but he does not dislike it if she makes a show of fight. She cannot win in a real battle, having no muscles, only nerves. Nerves make her jump out of a moving motor–car, or refuse to be married fashionably. The warrior may well allow her to triumph on such occasions; they move not the imperishable plinth of things that touch his peace.
    Margaret had a bad attack of these nerves during the honeymoon. He told her—casually, as was his habit—that Oniton Grange was let. She showed her annoyance, and asked rather crossly why she had not been consulted.
    "I didn’t want to bother you," he replied. "Besides, I have only heard for certain this morning."
    "Where are we to live?" said Margaret, trying to laugh. "I loved the place extraordinarily. Don’t you believe in having a permanent home, Henry?"
    He assured her that she misunderstood him. It is home life that distinguishes us from the foreigner. But he did not believe in a damp home.
    "This is news. I never heard till this minute that Oniton was damp."
    "My dear girl!"—he flung out his hand—"have you eyes? have you a skin? How could it be anything but damp in such a situation? In the first place, the Grange is on clay, and built where the castle moat must have been; then there’s that detestable little river, steaming all night like a kettle. Feel the cellar walls; look up under the eaves. Ask Sir James or any one. Those Shropshire valleys are notorious. The only possible place for a house in Shropshire is on a hill; but, for my part, I think the country is too far from London, and the scenery nothing special."
    Margaret could not resist saying, "Why did you go there, then?"
    "I—because—" He drew his head back and grew rather angry. "Why have we come to the Tyrol, if it comes to that? One might go on asking such questions indefinitely."
    One might; but he was only gaining time for a plausible answer. Out it came, and he believed it as soon as it was spoken.
    "The truth is, I took Oniton on account of Evie. Don’t let this go any further."
    "Certainly not."
    "I shouldn’t like her to know that she nearly let me in for a very bad bargain. No sooner did I sign the agreement than she got engaged. Poor little girl! She was so keen on it all, and wouldn’t even wait to make proper inquiries about the shooting. Afraid it would get snapped up—just like all of your sex. Well, no harm’s done. She has had her country wedding, and I’ve got rid of my goose to some fellows who are starting a preparatory school."
    "Where shall we live, then, Henry? I should enjoy living somewhere."
    "I have not yet