Howards End

it to this gentleman. I ask you, sir, am I to have my brain picked?"
    Mr. Wilcox turned to Margaret with the air of humorous strength that he could so well command. "Are we intruding, Miss Schlegel? Can we be of any use, or shall we go?"
    But Margaret ignored him.
    "I’m connected with a leading insurance company, sir. I receive what I take to be an invitation from these—ladies" (he drawled the word). "I come, and it’s to have my brain picked. I ask you, is it fair?"
    "Highly unfair," said Mr. Wilcox, drawing a gasp from Evie, who knew that her father was becoming dangerous.
    "There, you hear that? Most unfair, the gentleman says. There! Not content with"—pointing at Margaret—"you can’t deny it." His voice rose; he was falling into the rhythm of a scene with Jacky. "But as soon as I’m useful it’s a very different thing. 'Oh yes, send for him. Cross–question him. Pick his brains.' Oh yes. Now, take me on the whole, I’m a quiet fellow: I’m law–abiding, I don’t wish any unpleasantness; but I—I—"
    "You," said Margaret—"you—you—"
    Laughter from Evie as at a repartee.
    "You are the man who tried to walk by the Pole Star."
    More laughter.
    "You saw the sunrise."
    Laughter.
    "You tried to get away from the fogs that are stifling us all—away past books and houses to the truth. You were looking for a real home."
    "I fail to see the connection," said Leonard, hot with stupid anger.
    "So do I." There was a pause. "You were that last Sunday—you are this to–day. Mr. Bast! I and my sister have talked you over. We wanted to help you; we also supposed you might help us. We did not have you here out of charity—which bores us—but because we hoped there would be a connection between last Sunday and other days. What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have never entered into mine, but into yours, we thought—Haven’t we all to struggle against life’s daily greyness, against pettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion? I struggle by remembering my friends; others I have known by remembering some place—some beloved place or tree—we thought you one of these."
    "Of course, if there’s been any misunderstanding," mumbled Leonard, "all I can do is to go. But I beg to state—" He paused. Ahab and Jezebel danced at his boots and made him look ridiculous. "You were picking my brain for official information—I can prove it—I—" He blew his nose and left them.
    "Can I help you now?" said Mr. Wilcox, turning to Margaret. "May I have one quiet word with him in the hall?"
    "Helen, go after him—do anything—anything—to make the noodle understand."
    Helen hesitated.
    "But really—" said their visitor. "Ought she to?"
    At once she went.
    He resumed. "I would have chimed in, but I felt that you could polish him off for yourselves—I didn’t interfere. You were splendid, Miss Schlegel—absolutely splendid. You can take my word for it, but there are very few women who could have managed him."
    "Oh yes," said Margaret distractedly.
    "Bowling him over with those long sentences was what fetched me," cried Evie.
    "Yes, indeed," chuckled her father; "all that part about 'mechanical cheerfulness'—oh, fine!"
    "I’m very sorry," said Margaret, collecting herself. "He’s a nice creature really. I cannot think what set him off. It has been most unpleasant for you."
    "Oh, I didn’t mind." Then he changed his mood. He asked if he might speak as an old friend, and, permission given, said: "Oughtn’t you really to be more careful?"
    Margaret laughed, though her thoughts still strayed after Helen. "Do you realise that it’s all your fault?" she said. "You’re responsible."
    "I?"
    "This is the young man whom we were to warn against the Porphyrion. We warn him, and—look!"
    Mr. Wilcox was annoyed. "I hardly consider that a fair deduction," he said.
    "Obviously unfair," said Margaret. "I was only thinking how tangled things are. It’s our fault mostly—neither yours nor his."
    "Not his?"
    "No."
    "Miss Schlegel, you are too kind."
    "Yes, indeed," nodded Evie, a little contemptuously.
    "You behave much too well to people, and then they impose on you. I know the world and that type of man, and as soon as I entered the room I saw you had not been treating him properly. You must keep that type at a distance. Otherwise they forget themselves. Sad, but true. They aren’t our sort, and one must face the