look at you now; you’re all tense,’ said the young man. ‘Relax a minute, relax. Forget about things. There, isn’t that better?’
‘No,’ said the girl.
‘You don’t want to sleep, that’s what it is,’ said the man. ‘You think there’s something about not sleeping. You think it makes you more sensitive.’
‘How silly you are,’ said the girl spitefully.
‘Perhaps we could be reading poems aloud,’ said Bates.
‘Well, now, everyone’s here, I think,’ said Treece coming back into the room. He consulted a list which he took from his pocket. ‘Yes; that’s right. So shall we sit
down and talk communally?’ Treece had planned out a norm for the evening, to which he insisted it conform, so everyone took his place in a half-circle about the fire, and talked communally,
while Treece, conscious of his role as host, tried assiduously to mix everyone’s taste, now being highbrow, now lowbrow, now being
piano
, now
fortissimo
, all the time advancing
prepared topics – the cinema, the cost of toothpaste, the fun of making one’s own lampshades. He was editing the occasion; perhaps it’s going to be on television, said
someone.
‘What a lovely fire,’ said the girl who had said it once before.
‘Do you like fires, Miss Winterbottom?’ asked someone politely. The student with the beard was furtively hooting with laughter. Conversation in the half-circle of guests, who were
all now clasping large paper serviettes, was fitful. The sandwiches and cakes, which had clearly been made by a none-too-competent confectioner some days before, were passed round. ‘Do eat
some more cakes,’ cried Treece heartily. ‘You seem eager to get rid of them,’ remarked Carfax pleasantly; as soon as he had bitten into one of the confections he realized the
error of his comment, which would, he knew only too well, be retailed around the whole department next day.
‘This is one of the occasions when one could do with being married,’ said Treece with a bright smile to one of the girls, the enthusiastic Miss Winterbottom. ‘Can I
help?’ asked Miss Winterbottom. The man with the beard burst into fresh laughter. ‘I mean, like getting something from the kitchen,’ went on Miss Winterbottom, blushing to a full
shade of red. ‘Next time you must let me lend you my wife,’ said Carfax amiably. All were amused, on the politest level. ‘Like the Eskimos do,’ muttered the man with the
beard. ‘What’s that?’ asked Treece pleasantly; there were no secrets here. A girl in glasses with immense, brightly coloured rims kicked the man’s ankle to indicate that his
remark lacked taste. This spurred him to further efforts and he embarked on a premeditated routine.
‘Is it true, Professor Treece, that you’re interested in handbell ringing?’ he asked with an assumed nonchalance that reminded the girl in glasses how sweet she found him.
‘It was an interest of mine, Hopgood; you’re perfectly right,’ said Treece, going a little red. ‘But there are richer pastimes.’ This was what Hopgood thought a
typical ‘Treece’ remark and he smiled inside his beard and looked about him as if for approbation.
‘Aren’t bus fares terribly expensive?’ asked the girl in spectacles, smiling maternally at Treece.
‘Transport’, said Treece, seizing this kindly opening, ‘must be something of an item to those people who live in lodgings a long way out.’ Due consideration was given to
this proposition; assent followed.
‘Like me,’ said Louis, as if to give the remark direction. ‘It’s rather hard, you know, for me to decide whether it’s cheaper to travel on buses or whether to walk
and have my shoes repaired more often.’ Louis spoke so slowly and deliberately that his quandary took on the guise of a metaphysical problem set before learned arbiters. ‘I was hoping
to buy some new pyjamas this winter, but I see I shall have to make do with the others.’
All present appeared to
‘No,’ said the girl.
‘You don’t want to sleep, that’s what it is,’ said the man. ‘You think there’s something about not sleeping. You think it makes you more sensitive.’
‘How silly you are,’ said the girl spitefully.
‘Perhaps we could be reading poems aloud,’ said Bates.
‘Well, now, everyone’s here, I think,’ said Treece coming back into the room. He consulted a list which he took from his pocket. ‘Yes; that’s right. So shall we sit
down and talk communally?’ Treece had planned out a norm for the evening, to which he insisted it conform, so everyone took his place in a half-circle about the fire, and talked communally,
while Treece, conscious of his role as host, tried assiduously to mix everyone’s taste, now being highbrow, now lowbrow, now being
piano
, now
fortissimo
, all the time advancing
prepared topics – the cinema, the cost of toothpaste, the fun of making one’s own lampshades. He was editing the occasion; perhaps it’s going to be on television, said
someone.
‘What a lovely fire,’ said the girl who had said it once before.
‘Do you like fires, Miss Winterbottom?’ asked someone politely. The student with the beard was furtively hooting with laughter. Conversation in the half-circle of guests, who were
all now clasping large paper serviettes, was fitful. The sandwiches and cakes, which had clearly been made by a none-too-competent confectioner some days before, were passed round. ‘Do eat
some more cakes,’ cried Treece heartily. ‘You seem eager to get rid of them,’ remarked Carfax pleasantly; as soon as he had bitten into one of the confections he realized the
error of his comment, which would, he knew only too well, be retailed around the whole department next day.
‘This is one of the occasions when one could do with being married,’ said Treece with a bright smile to one of the girls, the enthusiastic Miss Winterbottom. ‘Can I
help?’ asked Miss Winterbottom. The man with the beard burst into fresh laughter. ‘I mean, like getting something from the kitchen,’ went on Miss Winterbottom, blushing to a full
shade of red. ‘Next time you must let me lend you my wife,’ said Carfax amiably. All were amused, on the politest level. ‘Like the Eskimos do,’ muttered the man with the
beard. ‘What’s that?’ asked Treece pleasantly; there were no secrets here. A girl in glasses with immense, brightly coloured rims kicked the man’s ankle to indicate that his
remark lacked taste. This spurred him to further efforts and he embarked on a premeditated routine.
‘Is it true, Professor Treece, that you’re interested in handbell ringing?’ he asked with an assumed nonchalance that reminded the girl in glasses how sweet she found him.
‘It was an interest of mine, Hopgood; you’re perfectly right,’ said Treece, going a little red. ‘But there are richer pastimes.’ This was what Hopgood thought a
typical ‘Treece’ remark and he smiled inside his beard and looked about him as if for approbation.
‘Aren’t bus fares terribly expensive?’ asked the girl in spectacles, smiling maternally at Treece.
‘Transport’, said Treece, seizing this kindly opening, ‘must be something of an item to those people who live in lodgings a long way out.’ Due consideration was given to
this proposition; assent followed.
‘Like me,’ said Louis, as if to give the remark direction. ‘It’s rather hard, you know, for me to decide whether it’s cheaper to travel on buses or whether to walk
and have my shoes repaired more often.’ Louis spoke so slowly and deliberately that his quandary took on the guise of a metaphysical problem set before learned arbiters. ‘I was hoping
to buy some new pyjamas this winter, but I see I shall have to make do with the others.’
All present appeared to
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