She felt petty and awkward,and her meditations on Christmas grew more cynical.Peace?It may bring other gifts,but is there a single Londoner to whom Christmas is peaceful?The craving for excitement and for elaboration has ruined that blessing.Goodwill?Had she seen any example of it in the hordes of purchasers?Or in herself.
She had failed to respond to this invitation merely because it was a little queer and imaginative--she,whose birthright it was to nourish imagination!
Better to have accepted,to have tired themselves a little by the journey,than coldly to reply,"Might I come some other day?"Her cynicism left her.There would be no other day.This shadowy woman would never ask her again.
They parted at the Mansions.Mrs.Wilcox went in after due civilities,and Margaret watched the tall,lonely figure sweep up the hall to the lift.As the glass doors closed on it she had the sense of an imprisonment.The beautiful head disappeared first,still buried in the muff,the long trailing skirt followed.A woman of undefinable rarity was going up heaven-ward,like a specimen in a bottle.
And into what a heaven--a vault as of hell,sooty black,from which soots descended!
At lunch her brother,seeing her inclined for silence,insisted on talking.Tibby was not ill-natured,but from babyhood something drove him to do the unwelcome and the unexpected.Now he gave her a long account of the day-school that he sometimes patronized.
The account was interesting,and she had often pressed him for it before,but she could not attend now,for her mind was focussed on the invisible.
She discerned that Mrs.Wilcox,though a loving wife and mother,had only one passion in life--her house--and that the moment was solemn when she invited a friend to share this passion with her.To answer "another day"was to answer as a fool."Another day"will do for brick and mortar,but not for the Holy of Holies into which Howards End had been transfigured.Her own curiosity was slight.She had heard more than enough about it in the summer.The nine windows,the vine,and the wych-elm had no pleasant connections for her,and she would have preferred to spend the afternoon at a concert.But imagination triumphed.
While her brother held forth she determined to go,at whatever cost,and to compel Mrs.Wilcox to go,too.When lunch was over she stepped over to the flats.
Mrs.Wilcox had just gone away for the night.
Margaret said that it was of no consequence,hurried downstairs,and took a hansom to King's Cross.She was convinced that the escapade was important,though it would have puzzled her to say why.There was a question of imprisonment and escape,and though she did not know the time of the train,she strained her eyes for the St.
Pancras'clock.
Then the clock of King's Cross swung into sight,a second moon in that infernal sky,and her cab drew up at the station.
There was a train for Hilton in five minutes.She took a ticket,asking in her agitation for a single.As she did so,a grave and happy voice saluted her and thanked her.
"I will come if I still may,"said Margaret,laughing nervously.
"You are coming to sleep,dear,too.It is in the morning that my house is most beautiful.You are coming to stop.I cannot show you my meadow properly except at sunrise.
These fogs"--she pointed at the station roof--"never spread far.
I dare say they are sitting in the sun in Hertfordshire,and you will never repent joining them.
"I shall never repent joining you."
"It is the same."
They began the walk up the long platform.
Far at its end stood the train,breasting the darkness without.They never reached it.Before imagination could triumph,there were cries of "Mother!Mother!"and a heavy-browed girl darted out of the cloak-room and seized Mrs.Wilcox by the arm.
"Evie!"she gasped."Evie,my pet--"
The girl called,"Father!I say!look who's here.""Evie,dearest girl,why aren't you in Yorkshire?""No--motor smash--changed plans--Father's coming.""Why,Ruth!"cried Mr.Wilcox,joining them.
"What in the name of all that's wonderful are you doing here,Ruth?"Mrs.Wilcox had recovered herself.
"Oh,Henry dear!--here's a lovely surprise--but let me introduce--but I think you know Miss Schlegel.""Oh,yes,"he replied,not greatly interested.
"But how's yourself,Ruth?"
"Fit as a fiddle,"she answered gaily.
"So are we and so was our car,which ran A-1as far as Ripon,but there a wretched horse and cart which a fool of a driver--""Miss Schlegel,our little outing must be for another day.""I was saying that this fool of a driver,as the policeman himself admits--""Another day,Mrs.Wilcox.Of course."
"--But as we've insured against third party risks,it won't so much matter--""--Cart and car being practically at right angles--"The voices of the happy family rose high.
Margaret was left alone.No one wanted her.Mrs.Wilcox walked out of King's Cross between her husband and her daughter,listening to both of them.
