"We know that it is not legally binding,Dolly,"said Mr.Wilcox,speaking from out of his fortress."We are aware of that.Legally,I should be justified in tearing it up and throwing it into the fire.Of course,my dear,we consider you as one of the family,but it will be better if you do not interfere with what you do not understand."Charles,vexed both with his father and his wife,then repeated:"The question is--"He had cleared a space of the breakfast-table from plates and knives,so that he could draw patterns on the tablecloth.
"The question is whether Miss Schlegel,during the fortnight we were all away,whether she unduly--"He stopped.
"I don't think that,"said his father,whose nature was nobler than his son's "Don't think what?""That she would have--that it is a case of undue influence.No,to my mind the question is the--the invalid's condition at the time she wrote.""My dear father,consult an expert if you like,but I don't admit it is my mother's writing.""Why,you just said it was!"cried Dolly.
"Never mind if I did,"he blazed out;"and hold your tongue."The poor little wife coloured at this,and,drawing her handkerchief from her pocket,shed a few tears.No one noticed her.Evie was scowling like an angry boy.The two men were gradually assuming the manner of the committee-room.They were both at their best when serving on committees.They did not make the mistake of handling human affairs in the bulk,but disposed of them item by item,sharply.Calligraphy was the item before them now,and on it they turned their well-trained brains.Charles,after a little demur,accepted the writing as genuine,and they passed on to the next point.
It is the best--perhaps the only--way of dodging emotion.They were the average human article,and had they considered the note as a whole it would have driven them miserable or mad.Considered item by item,the emotional content was minimized,and all went forward smoothly.
The clock ticked,the coals blazed higher,and contended with the white radiance that poured in through the windows.Unnoticed,the sun occupied his sky,and the shadows of the tree stems,extraordinarily solid,fell like trenches of purple across the frosted lawn.It was a glorious winter morning.Evie's fox terrier,who had passed for white,was only a dirty grey dog now,so intense was the purity that surrounded him.
He was discredited,but the blackbirds that he was chasing glowed with Arabian darkness,for all the conventional colouring of life had been altered.
Inside,the clock struck ten with a rich and confident note.Other clocks confirmed it,and the discussion moved towards its close.
To follow it is unnecessary.It is rather a moment when the commentator should step forward.Ought the Wilcoxes to have offered their home to Margaret?I think not.The appeal was too flimsy.It was not legal;it had been written in illness,and under the spell of a sudden friendship;it was contrary to the dead woman's intentions in the past,contrary to her very nature,so far as that nature was understood by them.To them Howards End was a house:they could not know that to her it had been a spirit,for which she sought a spiritual heir.And--pushing one step farther in these mists--may they not have decided even better than they supposed?Is it credible that the possessions of the spirit can be bequeathed at all?Has the soul offspring?A wych-elm tree,a vine,a wisp of hay with dew on it--can passion for such things be transmitted where there is no bond of blood?No;the Wilcoxes are not to be blamed.The problem is too terrific,and they could not even perceive a problem.No;it is natural and fitting that after due debate they should tear the note up and throw it on to their dining-room fire.The practical moralist may acquit them absolutely.He who strives to look deeper may acquit them--almost.For one hard fact remains.They did neglect a personal appeal.The woman who had died did say to them,"Do this,"and they answered,"We will not."
The incident made a most painful impression on them.
