按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
The sound sense of those words had made her feel queer when they were spoken； they were even more sensible than she had thought。 Did her little daughter； so young and pretty； seriously mean to plunge into the rescue work of dismal slums； to cut herself adrift from sweet sounds and scents and colours； from music and art； from dancing； flowers； and all that made life beautiful？ The secret forces of fastidiousness； an inborn dread of the fanatical； and all her real ignorance of what such a life was like； rose in Cecilia with a force which made her feel quite sick。 Better that she herself should do this thing than that her own child should be deprived of air and light and all the just environment of her youth and beauty。 'She must come backshe must listen to me！' she thought。 'We will begin together； we will start a nice little creche of our own； orperhaps Mrs。 Tallents Smallpeace could find us some regular work on one of her committees。'
Then suddenly she conceived a thought which made her blood run positively cold。 What if it were a matter of heredity？ What if Thyme had inherited her grandfather's single…mindedness？ Martin was giving proof of it。 Things； she knew； often skipped a generation and then set in again。 Surely； surely； it could not have done that！ With longing； yet with dread； she waited for the sound of Stephen's latchkey。 It came at its appointed time。
Even in her agitation Cecilia did not forget to spare him； all she could。 She began by giving him a kiss； and then said casually： 〃Thyme has got a whim into her head。〃
〃What whim？〃
〃It's rather what you might expect；〃 faltered Cecilia； 〃from her going about so much with Martin。〃
Stephen's face assumed at once an air of dry derision； there was no love lost between him and his young nephew…in…law。
〃The Sanitist？〃 he said； 〃ah！ Well？〃
〃She has gone off to do work…some place in the Euston Road。 I've had a telegram。 Oh； and I found this； Stephen。〃
She held out to him half…heartedly the two bits of paper； one pinkish…brown； the other blue。 Stephen saw that she was trembling。 He took them from her； read them； and looked at her again。 He had a real affection for his wife； and the tradition of consideration for other people's feelings was bred in him； so that at this moment； so vitally disturbing； the first thing he did was to put his hand on her shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze。 But there was also in Stephen a certain primitive virility； pickled； it is true； at Cambridge； and in the Law Courts dried； but still preserving something of its possessive and assertive quality； and the second thing he did was to say； 〃No； I'm damned！〃
In that little sentence lay the whole psychology of his attitude towards this situation and all the difference between two classes of the population。 Mr。 Purcey would undoubtedly have said： 〃Well； I'm damned！〃 Stephen； by saying 〃No； I'm damned！〃 betrayed that before he could be damned he had been obliged to wrestle and contend with something； and Cecilia； who was always wrestling too； knew this something to be that queer new thing； a Social Conscience； the dim bogey stalking pale about the houses of those who； through the accidents of leisure or of culture； had once left the door open to the suspicion： Is it possible that there is a class of people besides my own； or am I dreaming？ Happy the millions； poor or rich； not yet condemned to watch the wistful visiting or hear the husky mutter of that ghost； happy in their homes； blessed by a less disquieting god。 Such were Cecilia's inner feelings。
Even now she did not quite plumb the depths of Stephen's； she felt his struggle with the ghost； she felt and admired his victory。 What she did not； could not； perhaps； realise； was the precise nature of the outrage inflicted on him by Thyme's action。 With herbeing a womanthe matter was more practical； she did not grasp； had never grasped； the architectural nature of Stephen's mindhow really hurt he was by what did not seem to him in due and proper order。
He spoke： 〃Why on earth； if she felt like that； couldn't she have gone to work in the ordinary way？ She could have put herself in connection with some proper charitable societyI should never have objected to that。 It's all that young Sanitary idiot！〃
〃I believe；〃 Cecilia faltered； 〃that Martin's is a society。 It's a kind of medical Socialism； or something of that sort。 He has tremendous faith in it。〃
Stephen's lip curled。
〃He may have as much faith as he likes；〃 he said； with the restraint that was one of his best qualities； 〃so long as he doesn't infect my daughter with it。〃
Cecilia said suddenly： 〃Oh！ what are we to do； Stephen？ Shall I go over there to…night？〃
As one may see a shadow pass down on a cornfield； so came the cloud on Stephen's face。 It was as though he had not realised till then the full extent of what this meant。 For a minute he was silent。 〃Better wait for her letter；〃 he said at last。 〃He's her cousin； after all； and Mrs。 Grundy's deadin the Euston Road； at all events。〃
So； trying to spare each other all they could of anxiety； and careful to abstain from any hint of trouble before the servants； they dined and went to bed。
At that hour between the night and morning； when man's vitality is lowest； and the tremors of his spirit； like birds of ill omen； fly round and round him； beating their long plumes against his cheeks； Stephen woke。
It was very still。 A bar of pearly…grey dawn showed between the filmy curtains； which stirred with a regular； faint movement； like the puffing of a sleeper's lips。 The tide of the wind； woven in Mr。 Stone's fancy of the souls of men； was at low ebb。 Feebly it fanned the houses and hovels where the myriad forms of men lay sleeping； unconscious of its breath； so faint life's pulse； that men and shadows seemed for that brief moment mingled in the town's sleep。 Over the million varied roofs； over the hundred million little different shapes of men and things； the wind's quiet； visiting wand had stilled all into the wonder state of nothingness； when life is passing into death； death into new life； and self is at its feeblest。
And Stephen's self； feeling the magnetic currents of that ebb…tide drawing it down into murmurous slumber； out beyond the sand…bars of individuality and class； threw up its little hands and began to cry for help。 The purple sea of self…forgetfulness； under the dim； impersonal sky； seemed to him so cold and terrible。 It had no limit that he could see； no rules but such as hung too far away； written in the hieroglyphics of paling stars。 He could feel no order in the lift and lap of the wan waters round his limbs。 Where would those waters carry him？ To what depth of still green silence？ Was his own little daughter to go down into this sea that knew no creed but that of self…forgetfulness； that respected neither class nor personthis sea where a few wandering streaks seemed all the evidence of the precious differences between mankind？ God forbid it
And； turning on his elbow； he looked at her who had given him this daughter。 In the mystery of his wife's sleeping facethe face of her most near and dear to himhe tried hard not to see a likeness to Mr