Helen and her aunt returned to Wickham Place in a state of collapse,and for a little time Margaret had three invalids on her hands.Mrs.
Munt soon recovered.She possessed to a remarkable degree the power of distorting the past,and before many days were over she had forgotten the part played by her own imprudence in the catastrophe.Even at the crisis she had cried,"Thank goodness,poor Margaret is saved this!"which during the journey to London evolved into,"It had to be gone through by someone,"which in its turn ripened into the permanent form of "The one time I really did help Emily's girls was over the Wilcox business."But Helen was a more serious patient.New ideas had burst upon her like a thunder clap,and by them and by her reverberations she had been stunned.
The truth was that she had fallen in love,not with an individual,but with a family.
Before Paul arrived she had,as it were,been tuned up into his key.The energy of the Wilcoxes had fascinated her,had created new images of beauty in her responsive mind.To be all day with them in the open air,to sleep at night under their roof,had seemed the supreme joy of life,and had led to that abandonment of personality that is a possible prelude to love.She had liked giving in to Mr.
Wilcox,or Evie,or Charles;she had liked being told that her notions of life were sheltered or academic;that Equality was nonsense,Votes for Women nonsense,Socialism nonsense,Art and Literature,except when conducive to strengthening the character,nonsense.One by one the Schlegel fetiches had been overthrown,and,though professing to defend them,she had rejoiced.When Mr.Wilcox said that one sound man of business did more good to the world than a dozen of your social reformers,she had swallowed the curious assertion without a gasp,and had leant back luxuriously among the cushions of his motor-car.When Charles said,"Why be so polite to servants?they don't understand it,"she had not given the Schlegel retort of,"If they don't understand it,I do."No;she had vowed to be less polite to servants in the future."I am swathed in cant,"she thought,"and it is good for me to be stripped of it."And all that she thought or did or breathed was a quiet preparation for Paul.
Paul was inevitable.Charles was taken up with another girl,Mr.
Wilcox was so old,Evie so young,Mrs.Wilcox so different.Round the absent brother she began to throw the halo of Romance,to irradiate him with all the splendour of those happy days,to feel that in him she should draw nearest to the robust ideal.He and she were about the same age,Evie said.Most people thought Paul handsomer than his brother.He was certainly a better shot,though not so good at golf.
And when Paul appeared,flushed with the triumph of getting through an examination,and ready to flirt with any pretty girl,Helen met him halfway,or more than halfway,and turned towards him on the Sunday evening.
He had been talking of his approaching exile in Nigeria,and he should have continued to talk of it,and allowed their guest to recover.But the heave of her bosom flattered him.
Passion was possible,and he became passionate.Deep down in him something whispered,"This girl would let you kiss her;you might not have such a chance again."That was "how it happened,"or,rather,how Helen described it to her sister,using words even more unsympathetic than my own.But the poetry of that kiss,the wonder of it,the magic that there was in life for hours after it--who can describe that?It is so easy for an Englishman to sneer at these chance collisions of human beings.To the insular cynic and the insular moralist they offer an equal opportunity.It is so easy to talk of "passing emotion,"and how to forget how vivid the emotion was ere it passed.Our impulse to sneer,to forget,is at root a good one.We recognize that emotion is not enough,and that men and women are personalities capable of sustained relations,not mere opportunities for an electrical discharge.Yet we rate the impulse too highly.We do not admit that by collisions of this trivial sort the doors of heaven may be shaken open.To Helen,at all events,her life was to bring nothing more intense than the embrace of this boy who played no part in it.He had drawn her out of the house,where there was danger of surprise and light;he had led her by a path he knew,until they stood under the column of the vast wych-elm.
A man in the darkness,he had whispered "I love you"when she was desiring love.In time his slender personality faded,the scene that he had evoked endured.In all the variable years that followed she never saw the like of it again.
"I understand,"said Margaret--"at least,I understand as much as ever is understood of these things.Tell me now what happened on the Monday morning.""It was over at once."
"How,Helen?"
"I was still happy while I dressed,but as I came downstairs I got nervous,and when I went into the dining-room I knew it was no good.There was Evie--I can't explain--managing the tea-urn,and Mr.Wilcox reading the Times .""Was Paul there?"
"Yes;and Charles was talking to him about Stocks and Shares,and he looked frightened."By slight indications the sisters could convey much to each other.Margaret saw horror latent in the scene,and Helen's next remark did not surprise her.
"Somehow,when that kind of man looks frightened it is too awful.It is all right for us to be frightened,or for men of another sort--father,for instance;but for men like that!
When I saw all the others so placid,and Paul mad with terror in case Isaid the wrong thing,I felt for a moment that the whole Wilcox family was a fraud,just a wall of newspapers and motor-cars and golf-clubs,and that if it fell I should find nothing behind it but panic and emptiness.
