fraternity-第47部分

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As　those　words　of　swan　song　died　away　he　swayed　and　trembled；　and　suddenly　disappeared　below　the　sight…line；　as　if　he　had　sat　down。　The　little　model　took　his　place　in　the　open　window。　　She　started　at　seeing　Hilary；　then；　motionless；　stood　gazing　at　him。　　Out　of　the　gloom　of　the　opening　her　eyes　were　all　pupil；　two　spots　of　the　surrounding　darkness　imprisoned　in　a　face　as　pale　as　any　flower。　Rigid　as　the　girl　herself；　Hilary　looked　up　at　her。

A　voice　behind　him　said：　〃How　are　you？　　I　thought　I'd　give　my　car　a　run。〃　　Mr。　Purcey　was　coming　from　the　gate；　his　eyes　fixed　on　the　window　where　the　girl　stood。　　〃How　is　your　wife？〃　　he　added。

The　bathos　of　this　visit　roused　an　acid　fury　in　Hilary。　　He　surveyed　Mr。　Purcey's　figure　from　his　cloth…topped　boots　to　his　tall　hat；　and　said：　〃Shall　we　go　in　and　find　her？〃

As　they　went　along　Mr。　Purcey　said：　〃That's　the　youngtheermodel　I　met　in　your　wife's　studio；　isn't　it？　　Pretty　girl！〃

Hilary　compressed　his　lips。

〃Now；　what　sort　of　living　do　those　girls　make？〃　　pursued　Mr。　Purcey。　〃I　suppose　they've　most　of　them　other　resources。　　Eh；　what？〃

〃They　make　the　living　God　will　let　them；　I　suppose；　as　other　people　do。〃

Mr。　Purcey　gave　him　a　sharp　look。　　It　was　almost　as　if　Dallison　had　meant　to　snub　him。

〃Oh；　exactly！　　I　should　think　this　girl　would　have　no　difficulty。〃　And　suddenly　he　saw　a　curious　change　come　over　〃that　writing　fellow；〃　as　he　always　afterwards　described　Hilary。　　Instead　of　a　mild；　pleasant…looking　chap　enough；　he　had　become　a　regular　cold　devil。

〃My　wife　appears　to　be　out；〃　Hilary　said。　　〃I　also　have　an　engagement。〃

In　his　surprise　and　anger　Mr。　Purcey　said　with　great　simplicity；　〃Sorry　I'm　'de　trop'！〃　and　soon　his　car　could　be　heard　bearing　him　away　with　some　unnecessary　noise。




CHAPTER　XXXII

BEHIND　BIANCA'S　VEIL

But　Bianca　was　not　out。　　She　had　been　a　witness　of　Hilary's　long　look　at　the　little　model。　　Coming　from　her　studio　through　the　glass　passage　to　the　house；　she　could　not；　of　course；　see　what　he　was　gazing　at；　but　she　knew　as　well　as　if　the　girl　had　stood　before　her　in　the　dark　opening　of　the　window。　　Hating　herself　for　having　seen；　she　went　to　her　room；　and　lay　on　her　bed　with　her　hands　pressed　to　her　eyes。　　She　was　used　to　lonelinessthat　necessary　lot　of　natures　such　as　hers；　but　the　bitter　isolation　of　this　hour　was　such　as　to　drive　even　her　lonely　nature　to　despair。

She　rose　at　last；　and　repaired　the　ravages　made　in　her　face　and　dress；　lest　anyone　should　see　that　she　was　suffering。　　Then；　first　making　sure　that　Hilary　had　left　the　garden；　she　stole　out。

She　wandered　towards　Hyde　Park。　　It　was　Whitsuntide；　a　time　of　fear　to　the　cultivated　Londoner。　　The　town　seemed　all　arid　jollity　and　paper　bags　whirled　on　a　dusty　wind。　　People　swarmed　everywhere　in　clothes　which　did　not　suit　them；　desultory；　dead…tired　creatures　who；　in　these　few　green　hours　of　leisure　out　of　the　sandy　eternity　of　their　toil；　were　not　suffered　to　rest；　but　were　whipped　on　by　starved　instincts　to　hunt　pleasures　which　they　longed　for　too　dreadfully　to　overtake。

Bianca　passed　an　old　tramp　asleep　beneath　a　tree。　　His　clothes　had　clung　to　him　so　long　and　lovingly　that　they　were　falling　off；　but　his　face　was　calm　as　though　masked　with　the　finest　wax。　　Forgotten　were　his　sores　and　sorrows；　he　was　in　the　blessed　fields　of　sleep。

Bianca　hastened　away　from　the　sight　of　such　utter　peace。　　She　wandered　into　a　grove　of　trees　which　had　almost　eluded　the　notice　of　the　crowd。　　They　were　limes；　guarding　still　within　them　their　honey　bloom。　　Their　branches　of　light；　broad　leaves；　near　heart…shaped；　were　spread　out　like　wide　skirts。　　The　tallest　of　these　trees；　a　beautiful；　gay　creature；　stood　tremulous；　like　a　mistress　waiting　for　her　tardy　lover。　　What　joy　she　seemed　to　promise；　what　delicate　enticement；　with　every　veined　quivering　leaf！　　And　suddenly　the　sun　caught　hold　of　her；　raised　her　up　to　him；　kissed　her　all　over；　she　gave　forth　a　sigh　of　happiness；　as　though　her　very　spirit　had　travelled　through　her　lips　up　to　her　lover's　heart。

A　woman　in　a　lilac　frock　came　stealing　through　the　trees　towards　Bianca；　and　sitting　down　not　far　off；　kept　looking　quickly　round　under　her　sunshade。

Presently　Bianca　saw　what　she　was　looking　for。　　A　young　man　in　black　coat　and　shining　hat　came　swiftly　up　and　touched　her　shoulder。　　Half　hidden　by　the　foliage　they　sat；　leaning　forward；　prodding　gently　at　the　ground　with　stick　and　parasol；　the　stealthy　murmur　of　their　talk；　so　soft　and　intimate　that　no　word　was　audible；　stole　across　the　grass；　and　secretly　he　touched　her　hand　and　arm。　　They　were　not　of　the　holiday　crowd；　and　had　evidently　chosen　out　this　vulgar　afternoon　for　a　stolen　meeting。

Bianca　rose　and　hurried　on　amongst　the　trees。　　She　left　the　Park。　　In　the　streets　many　couples；　not　so　careful　to　conceal　their　intimacy；　were　parading　arm…in…arm。　　The　sight　of　them　did　not　sting　her　like　the　sight　of　those　lovers　in　the　Park；　they　were　not　of　her　own　order。　　But　presently　she　saw　a　little　boy　and　girl　asleep　on　the　doorstep　of　a　mansion；　with　their　cheeks　pressed　close　together　and　their　arms　round　each　other；　and　again　she　hurried　on。　　In　the　course　of　that　long　wandering　she　passed　the　building　which　〃Westminister〃　was　so　anxious　to　avoid。　　In　its　gateway　an　old　couple　were　just　about　to　separate；　one　to　the　men's；　the　other　to　the　women's　quarters。　　Their　toothless　mouths　were　close　together。　　〃Well；　goodnight；　Mother！〃　　〃Good…night；　Father；　good…night…take　care　o'　yourself！〃

Once　more　Bianca　hurried　on。

It　was　past　nine　when　she　turned　into　the　Old　Square；　and　rang　the　bell　of　her　sister's　house　with　the　sheer　physical　desire　to　rest　somewhere　that　was　not　her　home。

At　one　end　of　the　long；　low　drawing…room　Stephen；　in　evening　dress；　was　reading　aloud　from　a　review。　　Cecilia　was　looking　dubiously　at　his　sock；　where　she　seemed　to　see　a　tiny　speck　of　white　that　might　be　Stephen。　　In　the　window　at　the　far　end　Thyme　and　Martin　were　exchanging　speeches　at　short　intervals；　they　made　no　move　at　Bianca's　entrance；　and　their　faces　said：　〃We　have　no　use　for　that　handshaking　nonsense！〃

Receiving　Cecilia's　little；　warm；　doubting　kiss　and　Stephen's　polite；　dry　handshake；　Bianca　motioned　to　him　not　to　stop　reading。　　He　resumed。　　Cecilia；　too；　resumed　her　scrutiny　of　Stephen's　sock。

'Oh　dear！'　she　thought。　　'I　know　B。's　come　here　because　she's　unhappy。　　Poor　thing！　　Poor　Hilary！　　It's　that　wretched　business　again；　I　suppose。'

Skilled　in　every　tone　of　Stephen's　voice；　she　knew　that　Bianca's　entry　had　provoked　the　same　train　of　thought　in　him；　to　her　he　seemed　reading　out　these　words：　'I　disapproveI　disapprove。　　She's　Cis's　sister。　　But　if　it　wasn't　for　old　Hilary　I　wouldn't　have　the　subject　in　the　house！'

Bianca；　whose　subtlety　recorded　every　shade　of　feeling；　could　see　that　she　was　not　welcome。　　Leaning　back　with　veil　raised；　she　seemed　listening　to　Stephen's　reading；　but　in　fact　she　was　quivering　at　the　sight　of　those　two　couples。

Couples；　couplesfor　all　but　her！　　What　crime　had　she　committed？　Why　was　the　china　of　her　cup　flawed　so　that　no　one　could　drink　from　it？　　Why　had　she　been　made　so　that　nobody　could　love　her？　　This；　the　most　bitter　of　all　thoughts；　the　most　tragic　of　all　questionings；　haunted　her。

The　article　which　Stephen　readexplaining　exactly　how　to　deal　with　people　so　that　from　one　sort　of　human　being　they　might　become　another；　and　going　on　to　prove　that　if；　after　this　conversion；　they　showed　signs　of　a　reversion；　it　would　then　be　necessary　to　know　the　reason　whyfell　dryly　on　ears　listening　to　that　eternal　question：　Why　is　it　with　me　as　it　is？　　It　is　not　fair！listening　to　the　constant　murmuring　of　her　pride：　I　am　not　wanted　here　or　anywhere。　Better　to　efface　myself！

》From　their　end　of　the　room　Thyme　and　Martin　scarcely　looked　at　her。　To　them　she　was　Aunt　B。；　an　amateur；　the　mockery　of　whose　eyes　sometimes　penetrated　their　youthful　armour；　they　were　besides　too　interested　in　their　conversation　to　perceive　that　she　was　suffering。　The　skirmish　of　that　conversation　had　lasted　now　for　many　daysever　since　the　death　of　the　Hughs'　baby。

〃Well；〃　Martin　was　saying；　〃what　are　you　going　to　do？　　It's　no　good　to　base　it　on　the　baby；　you　must　know　your　own　mind　all　round。　　You　can't　go　rushing　into　real　work　on　mere　sentiment。〃

〃You　went　to　the　funeral；　Martin。　　It's　bosh　to　say　you　didn't　feel　it　too！〃

Martin　deigned　no　answer　to　this　insinuation。

〃We've　gone　past　the　need　for　sentiment；〃　he　said：　〃it's　exploded；　so　is　Justice；　administered　by　an　upper　class　with　a　patch　over　one　eye　and　a　squint　in　the　other。　　When　you　see　a　dying　donkey　in　a　field；　you　don't　want　to　refer　the　case　to　a　society；　as　your　dad　would；　you　don't　want　an　essay　of　Hilary's；　full　of　sympathy　with　everybody；　on　'Walking　in　a　field：　with　reflections　on　the　end　of　donkeys'you　want　to　put　a　bullet　in　the　donkey。〃

〃You're　always　down　on　Uncle　Hilary；〃　said　Thyme。

〃I　don't　mind　Hilary　himself；　I　object　to　his　type。〃

〃Well；　he　objects　to　yours；〃　said　Thyme。

〃I'm　not　so　sure　of　that；〃　said　Martin　slowly；　〃he　hasn't　got　character　enough。〃

Thyme　raised　her　chin；　and；　looking　at　him　through　half…closed　eyes；　said：　〃　Well；　I　do　think；　of　all　the　conceited　persons　I　eve