Howards End

hate this continual flux of London. It is an epitome of us at our worst—eternal formlessness; all the qualities, good, bad, and indifferent, streaming away—streaming, streaming for ever. That’s why I dread it so. I mistrust rivers, even in scenery. Now, the sea—"
    "High tide, yes."
    "Hoy toid"—from the promenading youths.
    "And these are the men to whom we give the vote," observed Mr. Wilcox, omitting to add that they were also the men to whom he gave work as clerks—work that scarcely encouraged them to grow into other men. "However, they have their own lives and interests. Let’s get on."
    He turned as he spoke, and prepared to see her back to The Bays. The business was over. His hotel was in the opposite direction, and if he accompanied her his letters would be late for the post. She implored him not to come, but he was obdurate.
    "A nice beginning, if your aunt saw you slip in alone!"
    "But I always do go about alone. Considering I’ve walked over the Apennines, it’s common sense. You will make me so angry. I don’t the least take it as a compliment."
    He laughed, and lit a cigar. "It isn’t meant as a compliment, my dear. I just won’t have you going about in the dark. Such people about too! It’s dangerous."
    "Can’t I look after myself? I do wish—"
    "Come along, Margaret; no wheedling."
    A younger woman might have resented his masterly ways, but Margaret had too firm a grip of life to make a fuss. She was, in her own way, as masterly. If he was a fortress she was a mountain peak, whom all might tread, but whom the snows made nightly virginal. Disdaining the heroic outfit, excitable in her methods, garrulous, episodical, shrill, she misled her lover much as she had misled her aunt. He mistook her fertility for Weakness. He supposed her "as clever as they make them," but no more, not realising that she was penetrating to the depths of his soul, and approving of what she found there.
    And if insight were sufficient, if the inner life were the whole of life, their happiness had been assured.
    They walked ahead briskly. The parade and the road after it were well lighted, but it was darker in Aunt Juley’s garden. As they were going up by the side–paths, through some rhododendrons, Mr. Wilcox, who was in front, said "Margaret" rather huskily, turned, dropped his cigar, and took her in his arms.
    She was startled, and nearly screamed, but recovered herself at once, and kissed with genuine love the lips that were pressed against her own. It was their first kiss, and when it was over he saw her safely to the door and rang the bell for her but disappeared into the night before the maid answered it. On looking back, the incident displeased her. It was so isolated. Nothing in their previous conversation had heralded it, and, worse still, no tenderness had ensued. If a man cannot lead up to passion he can at all events lead down from it, and she had hoped, after her complaisance, for some interchange of gentle words. But he had hurried away as if ashamed, and for an instant she was reminded of Helen and Paul.

CHAPTER XXI
    Charles had just been scolding his Dolly. She deserved the scolding, and had bent before it, but her head, though bloody was unsubdued and her began to mingle with his retreating thunder.
    "You’ve waked the baby. I knew you would. (Rum–ti–foo, Rackety–tackety–Tompkin!) I’m not responsible for what Uncle Percy does, nor for anybody else or anything, so there!"
    "Who asked him while I was away? Who asked my sister down to meet him? Who sent them out in the motor day after day?"
    "Charles, that reminds me of some poem."
    "Does it indeed? We shall all be dancing to a very different music presently. Miss Schlegel has fairly got us on toast."
    "I could simply scratch that woman’s eyes out, and to say it’s my fault is most unfair."
    "It’s your fault, and five months ago you admitted it."
    "I didn’t."
    "You did."
    "Tootle, tootle, playing on the pootle!" exclaimed Dolly, suddenly devoting herself to the child.
    "It’s all very well to turn the conversation, but father would never have dreamt of marrying as long as Evie was there to make him comfortable. But you must needs start match–making. Besides, Cahill’s too old."
    "Of course, if you’re going to be rude to Uncle Percy."
    "Miss Schlegel always meant to get hold of Howards End, and, thanks to you, she’s got it."
    "I call the way you twist things round and make them hang together most unfair. You