Howards End

concern—Now, don’t say I said so. It’s outside the Tariff Ring."
    "Certainly I won’t say. In fact, I don’t know what that means."
    "I thought an insurance company never smashed," was Helen’s contribution. "Don’t the others always run in and save them?"
    "You’re thinking of reinsurance," said Mr. Wilcox mildly. "It is exactly there that the Porphyrion is weak. It has tried to undercut, has been badly hit by a long series of small fires, and it hasn’t been able to reinsure. I’m afraid that public companies don’t save one another for love."
    "'Human nature,' I suppose," quoted Helen, and he laughed and agreed that it was. When Margaret said that she supposed that clerks, like every one else, found it extremely difficult to get situations in these days, he replied, "Yes, extremely," and rose to rejoin his friends. He knew by his own office—seldom a vacant post, and hundreds of applicants for it; at present no vacant post.
    "And how’s Howards End looking?" said Margaret, wishing to change the subject before they parted. Mr. Wilcox was a little apt to think one wanted to get something out of him.
    "It’s let."
    "Really. And you wandering homeless in longhaired Chelsea? How strange are the ways of Fate!"
    "No; it’s let unfurnished. We’ve moved."
    "Why, I thought of you both as anchored there for ever. Evie never told me."
    "I dare say when you met Evie the thing wasn’t settled. We only moved a week ago. Paul has rather a feeling for the old place, and we held on for him to have his holiday there; but, really, it is impossibly small. Endless drawbacks. I forget whether you’ve been up to it?"
    "As far as the house, never."
    "Well, Howards End is one of those converted farms. They don’t really do, spend what you will on them. We messed away with a garage all among the wych–elm roots, and last year we enclosed a bit of the meadow and attempted a rockery. Evie got rather keen on Alpine plants. But it didn’t do—no, it didn’t do. You remember, your sister will remember, the farm with those abominable guinea–fowls, and the hedge that the old woman never would cut properly, so that it all went thin at the bottom. And, inside the house, the beams—and the staircase through a door—picturesque enough, but not a place to live in." He glanced over the parapet cheerfully. "Full tide. And the position wasn’t right either. The neighbourhood’s getting suburban. Either be in London or out of it, I say; so we’ve taken a house in Ducie Street, close to Sloane Street, and a place right down in Shropshire—Oniton Grange. Ever heard of Oniton? Do come and see us—right away from everywhere, up towards Wales."
    "What a change!" said Margaret. But the change was in her own voice, which had become most sad. "I can’t imagine Howards End or Hilton without you."
    "Hilton isn’t without us," he replied. "Charles is there still."
    "Still?" said Margaret, who had not kept up with the Charles’s. "But I thought he was still at Epsom. They were furnishing that Christmas—one Christmas. How everything alters! I used to admire Mrs. Charles from our windows very often. Wasn’t it Epsom?"
    "Yes, but they moved eighteen months ago. Charles, the good chap"—his voice dropped—"thought I should be lonely. I didn’t want him to move, but he would, and took a house at the other end of Hilton, down by the Six Hills. He had a motor, too. There they all are, a very jolly party—he and she and the two grandchildren."
    "I manage other people’s affairs so much better than they manage them themselves," said Margaret as they shook hands. "When you moved out of Howards End, I should have moved Mr. Charles Wilcox into it. I should have kept so remarkable a place in the family."
    "So it is," he replied. "I haven’t sold it, and don’t mean to."
    "No; but none of you are there."
    "Oh, we’ve got a splendid tenant—Hamar Bryce, an invalid. If Charles ever wanted it—but he won’t. Dolly is so dependent on modern conveniences. No, we have all decided against Howards End. We like it in a way, but now we feel that it is neither one thing nor the other. One must have one thing or the other."
    "And some people are lucky enough to have both. You’re doing yourself proud, Mr. Wilcox. My congratulations."
    "And mine," said Helen.
    "Do remind Evie to come and see us—2 Wickham Place. We shan’t be there very long, either."
    "You, too, on the move?"
    "Next September," Margaret sighed.
    "Every one moving!