forgotten file of notes for his book.
“It’s a poem. By Robert Bridges.”
“Oh?” Daniel looked up, as if he were listening to something. Dusk was creeping out from the corners of the room, although it was still light outside, where the garden lay spellbound before the approach of night.
Miss Adelaide turned back to the window, her wispy head silhouetted. “She copied this out.” She said rather than asked it.
“No.” Daniel stirred, and broke the stillness which lay on the room like water. “I did. She didn’t like it. She said that Bridges and I were selfish to want it that way. So you see——” He got up and switched on a light. “Here’s what you get for being selfish. I wonder if Bridges got it, too? Ossie will know. He runs a library.”
But Ossie did not know. He did not like this conversation. He had not liked any of this afternoon since tea-time and he wished these women would soon go away. He could not understand it. After all his weeks of tact and consideration, these imprudent women had got far closer to Daniel in a few hours.
When they had gone, and Daniel was looking through his books to see which he must take away, Ossie thought that he would try bluntness, if that was what Daniel wanted.
“I say, old boy,” he said bluffly, “I’ve been feeling bad.”
“I told you kippers and leeks didn’t mix,” said Daniel, reading.
“No, but listen. I know you laughed at the time, but that day you suddenly decided to let the cottage—it was because of finding me and Doreen here, wasn’t it? Made you think— made you think of you and Jane-”
“My God!” Daniel spun round. “Don’t make me sick. As if it could compare——How dare you even mention her name, you blundering fool? As if you and that toothy—that-” His stammer assailed him and he beat the air for words.
This was too much. Ossie was roused at last. “I’ve had just about enough!” He hated the way his voice always went shrill when he got angry. He rushed squeakily on, before Daniel could become articulate: “After all I’ve done for you —you talk to me like a dog. You insult Doreen. You let the cottage with no thought for me, when you know I promised my sister she could have the flat another month. I gave up my home for you! I-”
“I never asked you to!” shouted Daniel.
“Didn’t you want me?”
“No!”
“Well, don’t think I wanted to come!” They stood a yard apart and yelled at each other in the low room. Suddenly Daniel gave a shout of laughter and fell over the arm of the sofa onto his back with his legs in the air.
“Oh God, that was wonderful, wonderful. Done me a power of good. I like you a hell of a lot, Oswald. You’re a great chap.”
Ossie felt wonderful, too, and next morning when he had packed up his things and left the cottage for good they parted better friends than ever before.
Ossie looked forward now to the future. They would go on being friends, and he would see Daniel a lot in London. They might even share a flat, and if Doreen did not like it, no matter. No matter either that she was still annoyed about what had happened at the cottage. If she wanted to be like that, and flaunt Morris at Ossie whenever he suggested an evening’s entertainment, all right. He and Daniel could get on quite well without her.
A few days later in the library, when he asked Peter Clay to send Daniel along with some overdue books, he said: “Don’t you ever know anything, Ozzie? He’s cleared out— * chucked the job and cleared out. No one knows where he’s gone.”
Chapter Three
Doris
Doris was getting No. 4 ready for a new guest. The floor did not trouble her much, but she spent quite a long time on the taps and the veneered top of the dressing-table. Dusting and polishing she liked—things that showed—but those bits of fluff and dried mud at the bottom of the wardrobe she just pushed back into a corner. There was no means of getting them out, anyway, with that ridge at the
“It’s a poem. By Robert Bridges.”
“Oh?” Daniel looked up, as if he were listening to something. Dusk was creeping out from the corners of the room, although it was still light outside, where the garden lay spellbound before the approach of night.
Miss Adelaide turned back to the window, her wispy head silhouetted. “She copied this out.” She said rather than asked it.
“No.” Daniel stirred, and broke the stillness which lay on the room like water. “I did. She didn’t like it. She said that Bridges and I were selfish to want it that way. So you see——” He got up and switched on a light. “Here’s what you get for being selfish. I wonder if Bridges got it, too? Ossie will know. He runs a library.”
But Ossie did not know. He did not like this conversation. He had not liked any of this afternoon since tea-time and he wished these women would soon go away. He could not understand it. After all his weeks of tact and consideration, these imprudent women had got far closer to Daniel in a few hours.
When they had gone, and Daniel was looking through his books to see which he must take away, Ossie thought that he would try bluntness, if that was what Daniel wanted.
“I say, old boy,” he said bluffly, “I’ve been feeling bad.”
“I told you kippers and leeks didn’t mix,” said Daniel, reading.
“No, but listen. I know you laughed at the time, but that day you suddenly decided to let the cottage—it was because of finding me and Doreen here, wasn’t it? Made you think— made you think of you and Jane-”
“My God!” Daniel spun round. “Don’t make me sick. As if it could compare——How dare you even mention her name, you blundering fool? As if you and that toothy—that-” His stammer assailed him and he beat the air for words.
This was too much. Ossie was roused at last. “I’ve had just about enough!” He hated the way his voice always went shrill when he got angry. He rushed squeakily on, before Daniel could become articulate: “After all I’ve done for you —you talk to me like a dog. You insult Doreen. You let the cottage with no thought for me, when you know I promised my sister she could have the flat another month. I gave up my home for you! I-”
“I never asked you to!” shouted Daniel.
“Didn’t you want me?”
“No!”
“Well, don’t think I wanted to come!” They stood a yard apart and yelled at each other in the low room. Suddenly Daniel gave a shout of laughter and fell over the arm of the sofa onto his back with his legs in the air.
“Oh God, that was wonderful, wonderful. Done me a power of good. I like you a hell of a lot, Oswald. You’re a great chap.”
Ossie felt wonderful, too, and next morning when he had packed up his things and left the cottage for good they parted better friends than ever before.
Ossie looked forward now to the future. They would go on being friends, and he would see Daniel a lot in London. They might even share a flat, and if Doreen did not like it, no matter. No matter either that she was still annoyed about what had happened at the cottage. If she wanted to be like that, and flaunt Morris at Ossie whenever he suggested an evening’s entertainment, all right. He and Daniel could get on quite well without her.
A few days later in the library, when he asked Peter Clay to send Daniel along with some overdue books, he said: “Don’t you ever know anything, Ozzie? He’s cleared out— * chucked the job and cleared out. No one knows where he’s gone.”
Chapter Three
Doris
Doris was getting No. 4 ready for a new guest. The floor did not trouble her much, but she spent quite a long time on the taps and the veneered top of the dressing-table. Dusting and polishing she liked—things that showed—but those bits of fluff and dried mud at the bottom of the wardrobe she just pushed back into a corner. There was no means of getting them out, anyway, with that ridge at the
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