LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 14

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      In the garden of tall rose trees and nasturtiums Helena was again waiting. It was past nine o’clock, so she was growing impatient. To herself, however, she professed a great interest in a little book of verses she had bought in St Martin’s Lane for twopence.

      A late, harsh blackbird smote him with her wings,

       As through the glade, dim in the dark, she flew. . . .

      So she read. She made a curious, pleased sound, and remarked to herself that she thought these verses very fine. But she watched the road for Siegmund.

      And now she takes the scissors on her thumb . . .

       Oh then, no more unto my lattice come.

      ‘H’m!’ she said, ‘I really don’t know whether I like that or not.’

      Therefore she read the piece again before she looked down the road.

      ‘He really is very late. It is absurd to think he may have got drowned; but if he were washing about at the bottom of the sea, his hair loose on the water!’

      Her heart stood still as she imagined this.

      ‘But what nonsense! I like these verses very much. I will read them as I walk along the side path, where I shall hear the bees, and catch the flutter of a butterfly among the words. That will be a very fitting way to read this poet.’

      So she strolled to the gate, glancing up now and again. There, sure enough, was Siegmund coming, the towel hanging over his shoulder, his throat bare, and his face bright. She stood in the mottled shade.

      ‘I have kept you waiting,’ said Siegmund.

      ‘Well, I was reading, you see.’

      She would not admit her impatience.

      ‘I have been talking,’ he said.

      ‘Talking!’ she exclaimed in slight displeasure. ‘Have you found an acquaintance even here?’

      ‘A fellow who was quite close friends in Savoy days; he made me feel queer-sort of Doppelgänger, he was.’

      Helena glanced up swiftly and curiously.

      ‘In what way?’ she said.

      ‘He talked all the skeletons in the cupboard-such piffle it seems, now! The sea is like a harebell, and there are two battleships lying in the bay. You can hear the voices of the men on deck distinctly. Well, have you made the plans for today?’

      They went into the house to breakfast. She watched him helping himself to the scarlet and green salad.

      ‘Mrs Curtiss,’ she said, in rather reedy tone, ‘has been very motherly to me this morning; oh, very motherly!’

      Siegmund, who was in a warm, gay mood, shrank up.

      ‘What, has she been saying something about last night?’ he asked.

      ‘She was very much concerned for me-was afraid something dreadful had happened,’ continued Helena, in the same keen, sarcastic tone, which showed she was trying to rid herself of her own mortification.

      ‘Because we weren’t in till about eleven?’ said Siegmund, also with sarcasm.

      ‘I mustn’t do it again. Oh no, I mustn’t do it again, really.’

      ‘For fear of alarming the old lady?’ he asked.

      ‘“You know, dear, it troubles me a good deal . . . but if I were your mother, I don’t know how I should feel,”’ she quoted.

      ‘When one engages rooms one doesn’t usually stipulate for a stepmother to nourish one’s conscience,’ said Siegmund. They laughed, making jest of the affair; but they were both too thin-skinned. Siegmund writhed within himself with mortification, while Helena talked as if her teeth were on edge.

      ‘I don’t mind in the least,’ she said. ‘The poor old woman has her opinions, and I mine.’

      Siegmund brooded a little.

      ‘I know I’m a moral coward,’ he said bitterly.

      ‘Nonsense’ she replied. Then, with a little heat: ‘But you do continue to try so hard to justify yourself, as if you felt you needed justification.’

      He laughed bitterly.

      ‘I tell you — a little thing like this — it remains tied tight round something inside me, reminding me for hours — well, what everybody else’s opinion of me is.’

      Helena laughed rather plaintively.

      ‘I thought you were so sure we were right,’ she said.

      He winced again.

      ‘In myself I am. But in the eyes of the world —’

      ‘If you feel so in yourself, is not that enough?’ she said brutally.

      He hung his head, and slowly turned his serviette-ring.

      ‘What is myself?’ he asked.

      ‘Nothing very definite,’ she said, with a bitter laugh.

      They were silent. After a while she rose, went lovingly over to him, and put her arms round his neck.

      ‘This is our last clear day, dear,’ she said.

      A wave of love came over him, sweeping away all the rest. He took her in his arms. . . .

      ‘It will be hot today,’ said Helena, as they prepared to go out.

      ‘I felt the sun steaming in my hair as I came up,’ he replied.

      ‘I shall wear a hat — you had better do so too.’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘I told you I wanted a sun-soaking; now I think I shall get one.’

      She did not urge or compel him. In these matters he was old enough to choose for himself.

      This morning they were rather silent. Each felt the tarnish on their remaining day.

      ‘I think, dear,’ she said, ‘we ought to find the little path that escaped us last night.’

      ‘We were lucky to miss it,’ he answered. ‘You don’t get a walk like that twice in a lifetime, in spite of the old ladies.’

      She glanced up at him with a winsome smile, glad to hear his words.

      They set off, Siegmund bare-headed. He was dressed in flannels and a loose canvas shirt, but he looked what he was — a Londoner on holiday. He had the appearance, the diffident bearing, and the well-cut clothes of a gentleman. He had a slight stoop, a strong-shouldered stoop, and as he walked he looked unseeing in front of him.

      Helena belonged to the unclassed. She was not ladylike, nor smart, nor assertive. One could not tell whether she were of independent means or a worker. One thing was obvious about her:

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