round; incredibly, Bill and Shirley were no longer there.
Outside the hall was a little open space, made into a sort of perfunctory public garden, with thin grass, a privet hedge, and a forlorn iron seat. Timmie led her over to it, gripping her elbow with tense nervousness which put her teeth on edge. She was glad when he let go of her to extricate a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and dust the seat. She sat down, and he stood over her, swinging his weight from foot to foot and looking at her anxiously.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “but I feel much better now. Don’t let me keep you from the meeting. I shall just rest here for a minute, and then go home.”
“That’s all right. They don’t get going all at once. I think I’d better stay for a bit; that is, if you don’t mind.” He leaned a big raw hand on the back of the seat, which creaked under its uncertain pressure. Janet looked at the grubby privet hedge, longing to be alone and to reassemble herself. She had a vague expectation of finding her hat out of place and her clothes crumpled, as if she had been rescued from a street accident. In evident terror of a gap in the conversation, he went on jerkily, “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a sister who quite often passes out in hot theatres and places like that. She always says she feels better if she puts her head between her knees. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried doing that.” He stopped, obviously fearing that he had suggested something undignified, which might offend her.
“Really,” she said, “I feel perfectly well now. It’s so nice of you to have looked after me.” She meant this for a dismissal; but he looked encouraged and sat down beside her, with his long legs straggling out in a semidetached way in front. Dissatisfied, it seemed, with the look of them, he drew them in quickly and tucked them under the seat.
“I know what it’s like, passing out, because I did once, when I got a kick on the head playing left wing. I’d been tackled, you see, and a chap behind was coming on rather fast and couldn’t stop. The coming round’s the worst part, really. But I expect this sort feels different.” Janet cast about in her mind for something efficacious that would stop just short of the obvious; her gratitude had not quite evaporated. He screwed himself round towards her, gripped one knee with both hands, and said, very quickly, “I’ve only known Bill and Shirley about three days. I expect, seeing us all roll up together like that, you thought we were all great friends.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Well—of course in the way every one is in the Group; it’s pretty good that way. At least it’s pretty good for me, because usually I’m rather on my own. I’m cramming for Oxford, you know, at home. This is my second shot; as a matter of fact, it’s the Latin principally. … Well, talking about Bill and Shirley, I don’t mean that I don’t think a lot of them. They’ve got a terrific way of tackling things that’s all right for them because they’re pretty tough. I mean, obviously there have to be tough people in the world to do the tough jobs. The only thing is about being tough like that, they don’t always quite cotton on to it that every one else isn’t.”
The seat creaked as he shifted himself round to a more acutely uncomfortable angle. Janet looked at him, and suddenly her nervous irritability faded. He was watching the effect of his words with strained anxiety; he had the look of one who has had committed to him, as an awful privilege, the care of some delicate and priceless apparatus which is ordinarily entrusted only to technicians of the highest skill. To Janet it was like food to the starving. Kit had looked like that, only a little less nakedly, in the first weeks they had known one another. She had never allowed herself to become aware that it was for this she had married him; that she had wanted and expected it to be the note of their relationship;
Outside the hall was a little open space, made into a sort of perfunctory public garden, with thin grass, a privet hedge, and a forlorn iron seat. Timmie led her over to it, gripping her elbow with tense nervousness which put her teeth on edge. She was glad when he let go of her to extricate a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and dust the seat. She sat down, and he stood over her, swinging his weight from foot to foot and looking at her anxiously.
“Thank you so much,” she said, “but I feel much better now. Don’t let me keep you from the meeting. I shall just rest here for a minute, and then go home.”
“That’s all right. They don’t get going all at once. I think I’d better stay for a bit; that is, if you don’t mind.” He leaned a big raw hand on the back of the seat, which creaked under its uncertain pressure. Janet looked at the grubby privet hedge, longing to be alone and to reassemble herself. She had a vague expectation of finding her hat out of place and her clothes crumpled, as if she had been rescued from a street accident. In evident terror of a gap in the conversation, he went on jerkily, “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a sister who quite often passes out in hot theatres and places like that. She always says she feels better if she puts her head between her knees. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried doing that.” He stopped, obviously fearing that he had suggested something undignified, which might offend her.
“Really,” she said, “I feel perfectly well now. It’s so nice of you to have looked after me.” She meant this for a dismissal; but he looked encouraged and sat down beside her, with his long legs straggling out in a semidetached way in front. Dissatisfied, it seemed, with the look of them, he drew them in quickly and tucked them under the seat.
“I know what it’s like, passing out, because I did once, when I got a kick on the head playing left wing. I’d been tackled, you see, and a chap behind was coming on rather fast and couldn’t stop. The coming round’s the worst part, really. But I expect this sort feels different.” Janet cast about in her mind for something efficacious that would stop just short of the obvious; her gratitude had not quite evaporated. He screwed himself round towards her, gripped one knee with both hands, and said, very quickly, “I’ve only known Bill and Shirley about three days. I expect, seeing us all roll up together like that, you thought we were all great friends.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Well—of course in the way every one is in the Group; it’s pretty good that way. At least it’s pretty good for me, because usually I’m rather on my own. I’m cramming for Oxford, you know, at home. This is my second shot; as a matter of fact, it’s the Latin principally. … Well, talking about Bill and Shirley, I don’t mean that I don’t think a lot of them. They’ve got a terrific way of tackling things that’s all right for them because they’re pretty tough. I mean, obviously there have to be tough people in the world to do the tough jobs. The only thing is about being tough like that, they don’t always quite cotton on to it that every one else isn’t.”
The seat creaked as he shifted himself round to a more acutely uncomfortable angle. Janet looked at him, and suddenly her nervous irritability faded. He was watching the effect of his words with strained anxiety; he had the look of one who has had committed to him, as an awful privilege, the care of some delicate and priceless apparatus which is ordinarily entrusted only to technicians of the highest skill. To Janet it was like food to the starving. Kit had looked like that, only a little less nakedly, in the first weeks they had known one another. She had never allowed herself to become aware that it was for this she had married him; that she had wanted and expected it to be the note of their relationship;
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