Howards End

commenting with shrill little cries.
    "Don’t you talk, Meg! You stole an old gentleman’s silk top–hat. Yes, she did, Aunt Juley. It is a positive fact. She thought it was a muff. Oh, heavens! I’ve knocked the In–and–Out card down. Where’s Frieda? Tibby, why don’t you ever—No, I can’t remember what I was going to say. That wasn’t it, but do tell the maids to hurry tea up. What about this umbrella?" She opened it. "No, it’s all gone along the seams. It’s an appalling umbrella. It must be mine."
    But it was not.
    He took it from her, murmured a few words of thanks, and then fled, with the lilting step of the clerk.
    "But if you will stop—" cried Margaret. "Now, Helen, how stupid you’ve been!"
    "Whatever have I done?"
    "Don’t you see that you’ve frightened him away? I meant him to stop to tea. You oughtn’t to talk about stealing or holes in an umbrella. I saw his nice eyes getting so miserable. No, it’s not a bit of good now." For Helen had darted out into the street, shouting, "Oh, do stop!"
    "I dare say it is all for the best," opined Mrs. Munt. "We know nothing about the young man, Margaret, and your drawing–room is full of very tempting little things."
    But Helen cried: "Aunt Juley, how can you! You make me more and more ashamed. I’d rather he had been a thief and taken all the apostle spoons than that I—Well, I must shut the front–door, I suppose. One more failure for Helen."
    "Yes, I think the apostle spoons could have gone as rent," said Margaret. Seeing that her aunt did not understand, she added: "You remember 'rent'? It was one of father’s words—Rent to the ideal, to his own faith in human nature. You remember how he would trust strangers, and if they fooled him he would say, 'It’s better to be fooled than to be suspicious'—that the confidence trick is the work of man, but the want–of–confidence trick is the work of the devil."
    "I remember something of the sort now," said Mrs. Munt, rather tartly, for she longed to add, "It was lucky that your father married a wife with money." But this was unkind, and she contented herself with, "Why, he might have stolen the little Ricketts picture as well."
    "Better that he had," said Helen stoutly.
    "No, I agree with Aunt Juley," said Margaret. "I’d rather mistrust people than lose my little Ricketts. There are limits."
    Their brother, finding the incident commonplace, had stolen upstairs to see whether there were scones for tea. He warmed the teapot—almost too deftly—rejected the orange pekoe that the parlour–maid had provided, poured in five spoonfuls of a superior blend, filled up with really boiling water, and now called to the ladies to be quick or they would lose the aroma.
    "All right, Auntie Tibby," called Heien, while Margaret, thoughtful again, said: "In a way, I wish we had a real boy in the house—the kind of boy who cares for men. It would make entertaining so much easier."
    "So do I," said her sister. "Tibby only cares for cultured females singing Brahms." And when they joined him she said rather sharply: "Why didn’t you make that young man welcome, Tibby? You must do the host a little, you know. You ought to have taken his hat and coaxed him into stopping, instead of letting him be swamped by screaming women."
    Tibby sighed, and drew a long strand of hair over his forehead.
    "Oh, it’s no good looking superior. I mean what I say."
    "Leave Tibby alone!" said Margaret, who could not bear her brother to be scolded.
    "Here’s the house a regular hen–coop!" grumbled Helen.
    "Oh, my dear!" protested Mrs. Munt. "How can you say such dreadful things! The number of men you get here has always astonished me. If there is any danger it’s the other way round."
    "Yes, but it’s the wrong sort of men, Helen means."
    "No, I don’t," corrected Helen. "We get the right sort of man, but the wrong side of him, and I say that’s Tibby’s fault. There ought to be a something about the house—an—I don’t know what."
    "A touch of the W’s, perhaps?"
    Helen put out her tongue.
    "Who are the W’s?" asked Tibby.
    "The W’s are things I and Meg and Aunt Juley know about and you don’t, so there!"
    "I suppose that ours is a female house," said Margaret, "and one must just accept it. No, Aunt Juley, I don’t mean that this house is full of women. I am trying to say something much more clever. I mean that it was irrevocably feminine, even in father’s time. Now I’m sure you understand! Well,