Howards End

can’t give him, but possibly Henry can."
    "It’s his duty to," grumbled Helen.
    "Nor am I concerned with duty. I’m concerned with the characters of various people whom we know, and how, things being as they are, things may be made a little better. Mr. Wilcox hates being asked favours; all business men do. But I am going to ask him, at the risk of a rebuff, because I want to make things a little better."
    "Very well. I promise. You take it very calmly."
    "Take them off to the George, then, and I’ll try. Poor creatures! but they look tired." As they parted, she added: "I haven’t nearly done with you, though, Helen. You have been most self–indulgent. I can’t get over it. You have less restraint rather than more as you grow older. Think it over and alter yourself, or we shan’t have happy lives."
    She rejoined Henry. Fortunately he had been sitting down: these physical matters were important. "Was it townees?" he asked, greeting her with a pleasant smile.
    "You’ll never believe me," said Margaret, sitting down beside him. "It’s all right now, but it was my sister."
    "Helen here?" he cried, preparing to rise. "But she refused the invitation. I thought hated weddings."
    "Don’t get up. She has not come to the wedding. I’ve bundled her off to the George."
    Inherently hospitable, he protested.
    "No; she has two of her proteges with her and must keep with them."
    "Let 'em all come."
    "My dear Henry, did you see them?"
    "I did catch sight of a brown bunch of a woman, certainly."
    "The brown bunch was Helen, but did you catch sight of a sea–green and salmon bunch?"
    "What! are they out bean–feasting?"
    "No; business. They wanted to see me, and later on I want to talk to you about them."
    She was ashamed of her own diplomacy. In dealing with a Wilcox, how tempting it was to lapse from comradeship, and to give him the kind of woman that he desired! Henry took the hint at once, and said: "Why later on? Tell me now. No time like the present."
    "Shall I?"
    "If it isn’t a long story."
    "Oh, not five minutes; but there’s a sting at the end of it, for I want you to find the man some work in your office."
    "What are his qualifications?"
    "I don’t know. He’s a clerk."
    "How old?"
    "Twenty–five, perhaps."
    "What’s his name?"
    "Bast," said Margaret, and was about to remind him that they had met at Wickham Place, but stopped herself. It had not been a successful meeting.
    "Where was he before?"
    "Dempster’s Bank."
    "Why did he leave?" he asked, still remembering nothing.
    "They reduced their staff."
    "All right; I’ll see him."
    It was the reward of her tact and devotion through the day. Now she understood why some women prefer influence to rights. Mrs. Plynlimmon, when condemning suffragettes, had said: "The woman who can’t influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself." Margaret had winced, but she was influencing Henry now, and though pleased at her little victory, she knew that she had won it by the methods of the harem.
    "I should be glad if you took him," she said, "but I don’t know whether he’s qualified."
    "I’ll do what I can. But, Margaret, this mustn’t be taken as a precedent."
    "No, of course—of course—"
    "I can’t fit in your proteges every day. Business would suffer."
    "I can promise you he’s the last. He—he’s rather a special case."
    "Proteges always are."
    She let it stand at that. He rose with a little extra touch of complacency, and held out his hand to help her up. How wide the gulf between Henry as he was and Henry as Helen thought he ought to be! And she herself—hovering as usual between the two, now accepting men as they are, now yearning with her sister for Truth. Love and Truth—their warfare seems eternal perhaps the whole visible world rests on it, and if they were one, life itself, like the spirits when Prospero was reconciled to his brother, might vanish into air, into thin air.
    "Your protege has made us late," said he. "The Fussells—will just be starting."
    On the whole she sided with men as they are. Henry would save the Basts as he had saved Howards End, while Helen and her friends were discussing the ethics of salvation. His was a slap–dash method, but the world has been built slap–dash, and the beauty of mountain and river and sunset may be but the varnish with which the unskilled artificer hides his joins. Oniton, like herself, was imperfect. Its apple–trees were stunted, its castle ruinous. It, too,