the short period between her glimpsing the woman on the stairs and reaching the chair in her bedroom. Not only were Mimi and Roper now seated together on the vast leather-covered sofa before the empty fireplace, but Margaret even felt that they had vulgarly drawn further away from each other upon hearing her return.
‘Hullo,’ said Mimi cheekily. ‘You’ve been a long time.’
For a moment Margaret felt like giving the situation a twist in her direction (as she felt it would be), by relating some of the reason for her long absence; but, in view of the mystery about Miss Roper, managed to abstain. Could it be that Miss Roper was not dead at all? she suddenly wondered.
‘Mind your own business,’ she replied in Mimi’s own key.
‘I hope you found your way,’ said Roper politely.
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
There was a short silence.
‘I fear Beech has gone to bed, or I’d offer you both some further refreshments. I have no other servant.’
After the initial drag of blood from her stomach, Margaret took a really hard pull on her resolution.
‘Do you live alone here with Beech?’
‘Quite alone. That’s why it’s so pleasant to have you two with me. I’ve been telling Mimi that normally I have only my books.’ It was the first time Margaret had heard him use the Christian name.
‘He leads the life of a recluse,’ said Mimi. ‘Research, you know. Dog’s life, if you ask me. Worse than ours.’
‘What do you research into?’ asked Margaret.
‘Can’t you guess, dear?’ Mimi had become very much at her ease.
‘Railways, I’m afraid. Railway history.’ Roper was smiling a scholar’s smile, tired and deprecating, but at the same time uniquely arrogant. ‘If you’re a Roper you can’t get it quite out of the blood. I’ve been showing Mimi this.’ He held out a book with a dark-green jacket.
‘Early Fishplates,’ read Margaret, ‘by Howard Bullhead.’ The print appeared closely packed and extremely technical. The book was decorated with occasional arid little diagrams.
‘What has this to do with railways?’
‘Fishplates,’ cried Mimi, ‘are what hold the rails down.’
‘Well, not quite that,’ said Roper, ‘but something like it.’
‘Who’s Mr. Bullhead?’
‘Bullhead is a rather technical railway joke. I’m the real author. I prefer to use a pseudonym.’
‘The whole book’s one long mad thrill,’ said Mimi. ‘ Wendley’s going to sell the film rights.’
‘I can’t get it altogether out of my blood,’ said Roper again. ‘The family motto might be the same as Bismarck’s: Blood and Iron.’
‘Do you want to get it out?’ asked Margaret. ‘I’m sure it’s a fascinating book.’
But Mimi had leapt to her feet. ‘What about a cup of tea? What do you say I make it?’
Roper hesitated for a moment. Margaret thought that disinclination to accede conflicted with desire to please Mimi.
‘I’ll help.’ Normally tea at night was so little Margaret’s habit that Mimi stared at her.
‘That would be very nice indeed,’ said Roper at last. Desire to please Mimi had doubtless prevailed, though indeed it was hard to see what else he could say. ‘I’ll show you the kitchen. It’s really very nice of you.’ He hesitated another moment. Then they both followed him from the room.
Before the kettle had boiled in the square cold kitchen, Margaret’s mind was in another conflict. Roper no longer seemed altogether so cultivated and charming as towards the end of dinner; there were now recurrent glimpses in him of showiness and even silliness. The maddening thing was, however, that Margaret could no longer be unaware that she found him attractive. Some impulse of which her experience was small and her opinion adverse, was loose in her brain, like the spot of light in a column of mercury. Upon other matters her mind was perfectly clear; so that she felt like two people, one thinking, one willing. Possibly even there was a third person, who was feeling; who
‘Hullo,’ said Mimi cheekily. ‘You’ve been a long time.’
For a moment Margaret felt like giving the situation a twist in her direction (as she felt it would be), by relating some of the reason for her long absence; but, in view of the mystery about Miss Roper, managed to abstain. Could it be that Miss Roper was not dead at all? she suddenly wondered.
‘Mind your own business,’ she replied in Mimi’s own key.
‘I hope you found your way,’ said Roper politely.
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
There was a short silence.
‘I fear Beech has gone to bed, or I’d offer you both some further refreshments. I have no other servant.’
After the initial drag of blood from her stomach, Margaret took a really hard pull on her resolution.
‘Do you live alone here with Beech?’
‘Quite alone. That’s why it’s so pleasant to have you two with me. I’ve been telling Mimi that normally I have only my books.’ It was the first time Margaret had heard him use the Christian name.
‘He leads the life of a recluse,’ said Mimi. ‘Research, you know. Dog’s life, if you ask me. Worse than ours.’
‘What do you research into?’ asked Margaret.
‘Can’t you guess, dear?’ Mimi had become very much at her ease.
‘Railways, I’m afraid. Railway history.’ Roper was smiling a scholar’s smile, tired and deprecating, but at the same time uniquely arrogant. ‘If you’re a Roper you can’t get it quite out of the blood. I’ve been showing Mimi this.’ He held out a book with a dark-green jacket.
‘Early Fishplates,’ read Margaret, ‘by Howard Bullhead.’ The print appeared closely packed and extremely technical. The book was decorated with occasional arid little diagrams.
‘What has this to do with railways?’
‘Fishplates,’ cried Mimi, ‘are what hold the rails down.’
‘Well, not quite that,’ said Roper, ‘but something like it.’
‘Who’s Mr. Bullhead?’
‘Bullhead is a rather technical railway joke. I’m the real author. I prefer to use a pseudonym.’
‘The whole book’s one long mad thrill,’ said Mimi. ‘ Wendley’s going to sell the film rights.’
‘I can’t get it altogether out of my blood,’ said Roper again. ‘The family motto might be the same as Bismarck’s: Blood and Iron.’
‘Do you want to get it out?’ asked Margaret. ‘I’m sure it’s a fascinating book.’
But Mimi had leapt to her feet. ‘What about a cup of tea? What do you say I make it?’
Roper hesitated for a moment. Margaret thought that disinclination to accede conflicted with desire to please Mimi.
‘I’ll help.’ Normally tea at night was so little Margaret’s habit that Mimi stared at her.
‘That would be very nice indeed,’ said Roper at last. Desire to please Mimi had doubtless prevailed, though indeed it was hard to see what else he could say. ‘I’ll show you the kitchen. It’s really very nice of you.’ He hesitated another moment. Then they both followed him from the room.
Before the kettle had boiled in the square cold kitchen, Margaret’s mind was in another conflict. Roper no longer seemed altogether so cultivated and charming as towards the end of dinner; there were now recurrent glimpses in him of showiness and even silliness. The maddening thing was, however, that Margaret could no longer be unaware that she found him attractive. Some impulse of which her experience was small and her opinion adverse, was loose in her brain, like the spot of light in a column of mercury. Upon other matters her mind was perfectly clear; so that she felt like two people, one thinking, one willing. Possibly even there was a third person, who was feeling; who
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