Howards End

and in a moment the offices of the Imperial and West African Rubber Company faded away. But it was not an impressive drive. Perhaps the weather was to blame, being grey and banked high with weary clouds. Perhaps Hertfordshire is scarcely intended for motorists. Did not a gentleman once motor so quickly through Westmoreland that he missed it? and if Westmoreland can be missed, it will fare ill with a county whose delicate structure particularly needs the attentive eye. Hertfordshire is England at its quietest, with little emphasis of river and hill; it is England meditative. If Drayton were with us again to write a new edition of his incomparable poem, he would sing the nymphs of Hertfordshire as indeterminate of feature, with hair obfuscated by the London smoke. Their eyes would be sad, and averted from their fate towards the Northern flats, their leader not Isis or Sabrina, but the slowly flowing Lea. No glory of raiment would be theirs, no urgency of dance; but they would be real nymphs.
    The chauffeur could not travel as quickly as he had hoped, for the Great North Road was full of Easter traffic. But he went quite quick enough for Margaret, a poor–spirited creature, who had chickens and children on the brain.
    "They’re all right," said Mr. Wilcox. "They’ll learn—like the swallows and the telegraph–wires."
    "Yes, but, while they’re learning—"
    "The motor’s come to stay," he answered. "One must get about. There’s a pretty church—oh, you aren’t sharp enough. Well, look out, if the road worries you—right outward at the scenery."
    She looked at the scenery. It heaved and merged like porridge. Presently it congealed. They had arrived.
    Charles’s house on the left; on the right the swelling forms of the Six Hills. Their appearance in such a neighbourhood surprised her. They interrupted the stream of residences that was thickening up towards Hilton. Beyond them she saw meadows and a wood, and beneath them she settled that soldiers of the best kind lay buried. She hated war and liked soldiers—it was one of her amiable inconsistencies.
    But here was Dolly, dressed up to the nines, standing at the door to greet them, and here were the first drops of the rain. They ran in gaily, and after a long wait in the drawing–room, sat down to the rough–and–ready lunch, every dish of which concealed or exuded cream. Mr. Bryce was the chief topic of conversation. Dolly described his visit with the key, while her father–in–law gave satisfaction by chaffing her and contradicting all she said. It was evidently the custom to laugh at Dolly. He chaffed Margaret too, and Margaret roused from a grave meditation was pleased and chaffed him back. Dolly seemed surprised and eyed her curiously. After lunch the two children came down. Margaret disliked babies, but hit it off better with the two–year–old, and sent Dolly into fits of laughter by talking sense to him. "Kiss them now, and come away," said Mr. Wilcox. She came, but refused to kiss them; it was such hard luck on the little things, she said, and though Dolly proffered Chorly–worly and Porgly–woggles in turn, she was obdurate.
    By this time it was raining steadily. The car came round with the hood up, and again she lost all sense of space. In a few minutes they stopped, and Crane opened the door of the car.
    "What’s happened?" asked Margaret.
    "What do you suppose?" said Henry.
    A little porch was close up against her face.
    "Are we there already?"
    "We are."
    "Well, I never! In years ago it seemed so far away."
    Smiling, but somehow disillusioned, she jumped out, and her impetus carried her to the front–door. She was about to open it, when Henry said: "That’s no good; it’s locked. Who’s got the key?"
    As he had himself forgotten to call for the key at the farm, no one replied. He also wanted to know who had left the front gate open, since a cow had strayed in from the road, and was spoiling the croquet lawn. Then he said rather crossly: "Margaret, you wait in the dry. I’ll go down for the key. It isn’t a hundred yards."
    "Mayn’t I come too?"
    "No; I shall be back before I’m gone."
    Then the car turned away, and it was as if a curtain had risen. For the second time that day she saw the appearance of the earth.
    There were the greengage–trees that Helen had once described, there the tennis lawn, there the hedge that would be glorious with dog–roses in June, but the vision now was of black and palest green. Down by the