him.
‘Then draw the curtains. How dare he trespass here! Peering and prying!’
Hester – dreamy with weakness – moved towards the hall and opened the door. She was at a stage of recovery from grief – the air was vacant, silence enfolded her, and when she put out her hand to the wall to steady herself after the effort of opening the door, the wall seemed to bend, to slope away from her; and it was as if Hugh’s hand as she touched it dissolved, vanished.
He lifted her and carried her to a chair in the hall. ‘Put your head down,’ he told her. She obeyed. Her hand with the photographs swung against the floor. Pussy came up and walked in a figure-of-eight round her feet. Hugh pushed him aside. ‘And now, Paul Pry, you can leave my house at once,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘I was just coming into the hall when I saw what you did to Pussy. You peer through my windows, force your way in, are cruel to my cat and goodness knows what you have done to this poor girl. Sit up, Hester! The blood will run to your head.’
Hester sat up and Hugh pushed her head down again.
‘You blockhead!’ Miss Despenser shouted. ‘She will faint, you great dunce, if you are not careful.’
He knelt down before Hester and held her head against him.
‘She was all right until you came,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘I wish you would go away again.’
‘What are these?’ Hugh asked, gently taking the photographs from Hester.
‘They are mine. I am showing them to her,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘We haven’t nearly finished yet.’ She sprang forward and snatched up one of the photographs he had dropped. ‘How dare you throw my things on the floor, you blundering oaf! That is my sister.’ She looked, with a change to tenderness, at the yellowed card, the girl with the vapid smile, the hand resting on a carved pedestal behind which a backcloth of roses and pillars met the carpet unevenly.
‘Are you well enough to come home?’ Hugh asked Hester. ‘Shall I get a car?’
‘I can’t go home.’
‘No, she can’t go home.’
‘What is wrong?’ Hugh asked softly, kneeling by her, rocking her gently in his arms.
‘It is out of the question,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘Now you must run along. I am sorry I cannot invite you to dinner.’ She fought bravely, but by now she knew that she was going to lose. He had forgotten her, as an adversary, while he listened to Hester’s story.
‘Get up off your knees!’ Miss Despenser tried to interrupt them. ‘You exhibitionist.’
‘I don’t know why I did,’ Hester was moaning. ‘I lost my nerve. She makes me behave badly. I hate her. Oh, I hate her.’ Her mouth squared like a howling child’s, then she began to beat her forehead with her hands.
‘There you are, you see,’ said Miss Despenser.
‘If you would only marry me!’ said Hugh, and at once began to cloud the proposal with doubts and apologies. ‘I know so little about girls – no time to learn … I had to work so hard, and I’ve so little money. I’m awfully dull, I know …’
‘As dull as ditchwater,’ Miss Despenser said, but her remarks were now automatic. She had covered her retreat with them, and exhausted, with her efforts and her disappointment, could say no more. She took a pace back in the shadowy hall and when at last Hugh stood up and helped Hester to do so, she closed her eyes and could watch no longer.
‘Good-bye,’ Hester said, turning to her. ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. I had better go back after all.’
Miss Despenser kept her eyes shut; a hard tear was under each lid.
Hugh looked away from Hester for the first time and saw the old woman’s wedge-shaped face, so angrily grieved, her down-turned mouth. With the palm of her hand she was pressing to her skirt the photograph of her dead sister. From his own timid loneliness, he had knowledge of such a poverty of love. He said: ‘Thank you for taking care of her.’ The tragic mask could not move, or the eyes open. When Hester and Hugh
‘Then draw the curtains. How dare he trespass here! Peering and prying!’
Hester – dreamy with weakness – moved towards the hall and opened the door. She was at a stage of recovery from grief – the air was vacant, silence enfolded her, and when she put out her hand to the wall to steady herself after the effort of opening the door, the wall seemed to bend, to slope away from her; and it was as if Hugh’s hand as she touched it dissolved, vanished.
He lifted her and carried her to a chair in the hall. ‘Put your head down,’ he told her. She obeyed. Her hand with the photographs swung against the floor. Pussy came up and walked in a figure-of-eight round her feet. Hugh pushed him aside. ‘And now, Paul Pry, you can leave my house at once,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘I was just coming into the hall when I saw what you did to Pussy. You peer through my windows, force your way in, are cruel to my cat and goodness knows what you have done to this poor girl. Sit up, Hester! The blood will run to your head.’
Hester sat up and Hugh pushed her head down again.
‘You blockhead!’ Miss Despenser shouted. ‘She will faint, you great dunce, if you are not careful.’
He knelt down before Hester and held her head against him.
‘She was all right until you came,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘I wish you would go away again.’
‘What are these?’ Hugh asked, gently taking the photographs from Hester.
‘They are mine. I am showing them to her,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘We haven’t nearly finished yet.’ She sprang forward and snatched up one of the photographs he had dropped. ‘How dare you throw my things on the floor, you blundering oaf! That is my sister.’ She looked, with a change to tenderness, at the yellowed card, the girl with the vapid smile, the hand resting on a carved pedestal behind which a backcloth of roses and pillars met the carpet unevenly.
‘Are you well enough to come home?’ Hugh asked Hester. ‘Shall I get a car?’
‘I can’t go home.’
‘No, she can’t go home.’
‘What is wrong?’ Hugh asked softly, kneeling by her, rocking her gently in his arms.
‘It is out of the question,’ Miss Despenser said. ‘Now you must run along. I am sorry I cannot invite you to dinner.’ She fought bravely, but by now she knew that she was going to lose. He had forgotten her, as an adversary, while he listened to Hester’s story.
‘Get up off your knees!’ Miss Despenser tried to interrupt them. ‘You exhibitionist.’
‘I don’t know why I did,’ Hester was moaning. ‘I lost my nerve. She makes me behave badly. I hate her. Oh, I hate her.’ Her mouth squared like a howling child’s, then she began to beat her forehead with her hands.
‘There you are, you see,’ said Miss Despenser.
‘If you would only marry me!’ said Hugh, and at once began to cloud the proposal with doubts and apologies. ‘I know so little about girls – no time to learn … I had to work so hard, and I’ve so little money. I’m awfully dull, I know …’
‘As dull as ditchwater,’ Miss Despenser said, but her remarks were now automatic. She had covered her retreat with them, and exhausted, with her efforts and her disappointment, could say no more. She took a pace back in the shadowy hall and when at last Hugh stood up and helped Hester to do so, she closed her eyes and could watch no longer.
‘Good-bye,’ Hester said, turning to her. ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. I had better go back after all.’
Miss Despenser kept her eyes shut; a hard tear was under each lid.
Hugh looked away from Hester for the first time and saw the old woman’s wedge-shaped face, so angrily grieved, her down-turned mouth. With the palm of her hand she was pressing to her skirt the photograph of her dead sister. From his own timid loneliness, he had knowledge of such a poverty of love. He said: ‘Thank you for taking care of her.’ The tragic mask could not move, or the eyes open. When Hester and Hugh
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