had been followed by a blasphemous incredulity which she could not believe to be hers alone.
What in her had outwardly passed for grief had seemed to her to be something of his frenzy. She recollected how he had kicked a door down when a defective lock kept him stuck in a lavatory during a tennis party—he was a participator: how could he be expected to cease to act or agree to hold off? She could have felt something irreligious about an attempt to see Guy’s quandary in a religious light. He had had it in him to make a good end, but not soon; he would have been ready to disengage himself when the hour came, but rightfully speaking it had not. Earthbound?—no, she was never to think of him like that, nor had he the makings of any ghost. It was simply that these years she went on living belonged to him, his lease upon them not having run out yet. The living were living his lifetime; and of this his contemporaries—herself, Lilia, Fred—never were unaware. They were incomplete.
So it had gone on. Meantime, another war had peopled the world with another generation of the not-dead, overlapping and crowding the living’s senses still more with that sense of unlived lives. Antonia and others younger were creatures of an impossible time, breathing in wronged air—air either too empty or too full, one could not say which. Jane, on the other hand, unaware of loss, should be taken to be in balance perfectly: she had come late enough (had she not?) to be at no known disadvantage. What she thought, no one had thought of asking until this morning—but then, what an alien she’d seemed to be!
Somewhere away in the fields, the tractor jerked back again into sound.
From the woods the elder stood out, like a chalked mark. What a stupid hiding-place, what a cramped bower—just room to sit on one’s heels inside! Nettles there would be, an old tin lid left behind after some rite of Maud’s—that thicket held, though Jane might not know it, signs of its infestation by many childhoods. Or, was the elder masking a secret gateway, outlet of a precipitous brambled dog-path to the river? Had the girl gone down break neck to where, near Gay David’s Hole, light from the current ran up the rock? Antonia pictured all but the act of reading.
Kathie wandered in to clear the dining-room table; she stopped behind Antonia’s shoulder to join her in staring out of the window. ‘Nothing much to see,’ she ventured to say.
‘I suppose not.’
‘Miss, the wasps are beginning.’
‘Tell them I’ve gone to the sea,’ commanded Antonia, with a sudden, inspired pluck at her pearls.
‘Tell the wasps, is it?’
‘No, the mistress when she comes down.’
Kathie, off to the table with her tray, asked: ‘Is it true you’re going? They say the sea’s as far as you can go.’
‘That’s why.’
‘And there’s no end to it, once you’d get there.—And Miss Jane also?’
‘No.—And cut me a sandwich.’
‘Out of what?—She’ll be lonely after you.’
‘No.—Out of whatever you have.’
‘There’s the shop ham.—Am I to say to Miss Jane you’re gone to the sea?’
‘As you like; but cut me the sandwich now. And first, for heaven’s sake, wash your hands!’
Kathie glanced down to her hands with some curiosity.
‘Miss,’ she asked, ‘do you mean to go on the sea?’
‘In it.’
‘Then that would be swimming.—You’d never drown?’
‘I never could,’ said Antonia regretfully.
‘Only wait, then,’ Kathie exclaimed, ‘till we find the sandwich!’
Five minutes later, Antonia filled her flask, pitched what more she needed into the back of the Ford, and drove away: it would be about forty miles. The Ford tearing off down the avenue was heard by Lilia, who went to her bedroom window to try to see who was in it, but too late. There being at least one person gone from the place somehow lessened the pressure on Montefort; yet as against that, one felt more deserted. Nobody had spoken of any plans—in
What in her had outwardly passed for grief had seemed to her to be something of his frenzy. She recollected how he had kicked a door down when a defective lock kept him stuck in a lavatory during a tennis party—he was a participator: how could he be expected to cease to act or agree to hold off? She could have felt something irreligious about an attempt to see Guy’s quandary in a religious light. He had had it in him to make a good end, but not soon; he would have been ready to disengage himself when the hour came, but rightfully speaking it had not. Earthbound?—no, she was never to think of him like that, nor had he the makings of any ghost. It was simply that these years she went on living belonged to him, his lease upon them not having run out yet. The living were living his lifetime; and of this his contemporaries—herself, Lilia, Fred—never were unaware. They were incomplete.
So it had gone on. Meantime, another war had peopled the world with another generation of the not-dead, overlapping and crowding the living’s senses still more with that sense of unlived lives. Antonia and others younger were creatures of an impossible time, breathing in wronged air—air either too empty or too full, one could not say which. Jane, on the other hand, unaware of loss, should be taken to be in balance perfectly: she had come late enough (had she not?) to be at no known disadvantage. What she thought, no one had thought of asking until this morning—but then, what an alien she’d seemed to be!
Somewhere away in the fields, the tractor jerked back again into sound.
From the woods the elder stood out, like a chalked mark. What a stupid hiding-place, what a cramped bower—just room to sit on one’s heels inside! Nettles there would be, an old tin lid left behind after some rite of Maud’s—that thicket held, though Jane might not know it, signs of its infestation by many childhoods. Or, was the elder masking a secret gateway, outlet of a precipitous brambled dog-path to the river? Had the girl gone down break neck to where, near Gay David’s Hole, light from the current ran up the rock? Antonia pictured all but the act of reading.
Kathie wandered in to clear the dining-room table; she stopped behind Antonia’s shoulder to join her in staring out of the window. ‘Nothing much to see,’ she ventured to say.
‘I suppose not.’
‘Miss, the wasps are beginning.’
‘Tell them I’ve gone to the sea,’ commanded Antonia, with a sudden, inspired pluck at her pearls.
‘Tell the wasps, is it?’
‘No, the mistress when she comes down.’
Kathie, off to the table with her tray, asked: ‘Is it true you’re going? They say the sea’s as far as you can go.’
‘That’s why.’
‘And there’s no end to it, once you’d get there.—And Miss Jane also?’
‘No.—And cut me a sandwich.’
‘Out of what?—She’ll be lonely after you.’
‘No.—Out of whatever you have.’
‘There’s the shop ham.—Am I to say to Miss Jane you’re gone to the sea?’
‘As you like; but cut me the sandwich now. And first, for heaven’s sake, wash your hands!’
Kathie glanced down to her hands with some curiosity.
‘Miss,’ she asked, ‘do you mean to go on the sea?’
‘In it.’
‘Then that would be swimming.—You’d never drown?’
‘I never could,’ said Antonia regretfully.
‘Only wait, then,’ Kathie exclaimed, ‘till we find the sandwich!’
Five minutes later, Antonia filled her flask, pitched what more she needed into the back of the Ford, and drove away: it would be about forty miles. The Ford tearing off down the avenue was heard by Lilia, who went to her bedroom window to try to see who was in it, but too late. There being at least one person gone from the place somehow lessened the pressure on Montefort; yet as against that, one felt more deserted. Nobody had spoken of any plans—in
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