LITMIR.BIZ

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No doubt but that Miss Warrender knew her subject and lectured, as she talked, brilliantly and with authority; but she had no power to fuse the errant enthusiasms of the young minds before her, to startle them from their preoccupations and smite them to a common ardour to which all contributed and by which all were set alight. She had not discovered that lecturing is a communal activity. For once Martha found that the getting of understanding had no charm, and confounding theme with lecturer, she hated both; though as far as Luke was concerned she gathered from both Dussie and Common Room conversation that she need fear nothing more to Luke’s honour from Miss Warrender. She was therefore shining again with gladness, rejoicing that he no longer laid himself open to the misrepresentations of the scandal-mongers and quite unaware that Luke was raging inwardly at that disgusting feminine folly that will not allow a man plain Monday’s fare, a little rational conversation on topics of current interest, without the woman’s obtruding her womanhood on him and forcing upon him the meanness of repulsing her. He had no more desire to offer love to a woman other than Dussie than to offer her a used teacup; but with his avidity for exploring other people’s minds, he wanted as much intellectual comradeship as he could obtain, from men and women alike. He wanted to go on talking philosophy to Miss Warrender as he had always done, and being unaccustomed to repressing any of his energetic and multitudinous impulses, resented the make of human nature.

      Seeing no alteration in Martha’s shining calm, and clearly persuaded that she was in love with Luke, Dussie thought: ‘She is heroic.’ But Martha was not heroic. She had her paradise within herself and it sufficed her. What she possessed was more to her than what she lacked.

      Luke continued to believe her a spirit: but her spirit haunted him. He was arrogant but not conceited; and that she might love him had not crossed his mind. Indeed he felt a subtle fear of her; and fear is not the way to truth. But during that spring Luke began to grow up. Though he hardly admitted it, Miss Warrender had sobered him; and Martha’s rebuke had gone deeper than he knew. He was thoughtful, brooding sometimes until Dussie marvelled. He would turn from her finest dishes, light a cigarette and fling it untasted on the fire.

      ‘A burnt offering,’ he said, answering her remonstrance.

      ‘A burnt … what on earth?’

      ‘Well, a sacrifice to the gods. You set fire to valuable things, you know.’

      ‘And what god do you sacrifice cigarettes to?’

      He said: ‘An unknown god.’

      ‘But what is it, Luke?’ she cried one evening. ‘You don’t eat or anything. You seem hardly to know that I’m here.’

      ‘I don’t quite know, Duss,’ he said, rumpling his hair. He was rueful and puzzled; a boy who had remained a boy too long and found maturity difficult.

      ‘It’s … some sort of spiritual adventure, I suppose,’ he said.

      And he began to talk of Martha.

      ‘Remember the time she told me I shouldn’t be so friendly with Lucy Warrender? All nonsense, of course. Oh, in this particular case she happened to have some justification, but in principle she was quite wrong. But somehow afterwards I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Herself. Not what she said. But her nature. Her nature is like an exquisitely chastened work of art. She does without. Rejects. Takes from life only its finest. And she doesn’t want the other things. She’s amazing, you know − to want so little and to lack so much. She doesn’t really want the things we want − chocs and shocks and frocks and things − all our social excitements. But it’s not because she’s satisfied with a thin and empty life. I expect it’s because she has something much more wildly exciting of her own. I thought and thought about it till I wanted to have it too − to get at the positive side of asceticism. What it gives you, not what it denies. It was really an intellectual curiosity − wanted to know what it was like. Inquisitiveness, you know.’

      He could not humble himself far enough as yet to acknowledge that it was more than an intellectual curiosity.

      ‘You’re awfully funny, Luke,’ said Dussie. ‘Imagine punishing yourself out of inquisitiveness.’

      ‘It’s what scientists and explorers and people do. But it isn’t punishing myself. That’s the great discovery. It’s the most thrilling excitement − refusing yourself things. Things you normally enjoy. The thrill of doing without them is far more exciting than having them. Comes to be a sort of self-indulgence. A Lenten orgy. A feast of fasting. A lap of luxury. I shall take to lashing myself next as an inordinate appetite. Like smoking, you know. Strokes instead of whiffs. Shan’t you love ironing my hair shirt?’

      Dussie’s heart had gone cold. Was he in love with Martha? She turned to the piano and played a ranting reel.

      ‘You’ll have to look after your costume yourself,’ she cried over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know how to dress for spiritual adventures. I never have any, you see. Shouldn’t recognize one if I met it in my porridge.’

      They were both growing up and afraid at first to share their knowledge.

       THIRTEEN

       Crux of a Spiritual Adventure

      Throughout that spring Martha had walked enchanted. A spell was on her that altered the very contours of her body. Unlike the maleficent spells of the witches, that shrivel the flesh and destroy the human semblance, the spell that was on Martha rounded her figure, filled out the hollows of her cheeks, straightened her shoulders. In spite in her harassed and laborious winter, she had never been so strong and well. Her limbs were tireless. She carried her head high. The philtre she had drunk was of very ancient efficacy. Under the influence of her conscious love for Luke, she was rapidly becoming what Luke loved her for not being − a woman.

      ‘That’s grand hurdies ye’re gettin’ on you, lassie,’ said Geordie, slapping her as she passed him. ‘The wark suits you better’n the books.’

      Martha was indignant. She felt obscurely that a change was coming on her, and though hardly aware of its cause knew well enough that it was not housework. Scornful, she tossed herself from her father’s reach and strode up the brae towards Crannochie.

      ‘Spangin’ awa’ up the hill in some style,’ her father reported.

      ‘Weel, lat her,’ said Emmeline. Now that she had recovered sufficiently to resume most of her household duties, she was willing enough that Martha should take her liberty again. Besides, it was Sunday evening − an April Sunday − the very time of the week for young people to go walking. Madge was out too.

      ‘Awa’ oot aboot wi’ her lad,’ said Geordie.

      ‘Lad!’ quoth Emmeline contemptuously. ‘Fat’n a way wad she hae a lad?’

      ‘Weel she tells me whiles aboot him.’

      ‘O ay, a’ It’s easy to see fa her lad wad be − a palin’ post.’

      On this occasion Emmeline was wrong. Madge had a lad. He came from Glasgow, clerked throughout the week in a wholesale paper store − a very genteel business − wore his tie through a ring with a flashy diamond and had alberts to his watch chain. Altogether a satisfactory person, and given to the week-end pursuit of rural delights: among which was numbered Madge’s sturdy little figure. At sixteen her breasts were already swollen and her hips pronounced. Madge, when she caught gawkishly at the alberts as they walked along the road, was already in possession of her share of the spiritual mysteries. Her perceptions had attained their apotheosis. She had other uses now for her side-combs than offering them to Martha.

      Martha, swinging uphill on the April Sunday evening, had no more use for the side-combs than she had had on the October night when they were offered. She was feeling splendidly alive. Life coursed through her veins, and she was glad, in a way she had hardly known before, of the possession of her body. It was a virginal possession.

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