The Voyage Out

by Virginia Woolf

  Chapter XII

  When Susan's engagement had been approved at home, and made public toany one who took an interest in it at the hotel--and by this time thesociety at the hotel was divided so as to point to invisible chalk-markssuch as Mr. Hirst had described, the news was felt to justify somecelebration--an expedition? That had been done already. A dance then.The advantage of a dance was that it abolished one of those longevenings which were apt to become tedious and lead to absurdly earlyhours in spite of bridge.

  Two or three people standing under the erect body of the stuffed leopardin the hall very soon had the matter decided. Evelyn slid a pace or twothis way and that, and pronounced that the floor was excellent.Signor Rodriguez informed them of an old Spaniard who fiddled atweddings--fiddled so as to make a tortoise waltz; and his daughter,although endowed with eyes as black as coal-scuttles, had the samepower over the piano. If there were any so sick or so surly as to prefersedentary occupations on the night in question to spinning and watchingothers spin, the drawing-room and billiard-room were theirs. Hewet madeit his business to conciliate the outsiders as much as possible. ToHirst's theory of the invisible chalk-marks he would pay no attentionwhatever. He was treated to a snub or two, but, in reward, found obscurelonely gentlemen delighted to have this opportunity of talking totheir kind, and the lady of doubtful character showed every symptom ofconfiding her case to him in the near future. Indeed it was made quiteobvious to him that the two or three hours between dinner and bedcontained an amount of unhappiness, which was really pitiable, so manypeople had not succeeded in making friends.

  It was settled that the dance was to be on Friday, one week after theengagement, and at dinner Hewet declared himself satisfied.

  "They're all coming!" he told Hirst. "Pepper!" he called, seeing WilliamPepper slip past in the wake of the soup with a pamphlet beneath hisarm, "We're counting on you to open the ball."

  "You will certainly put sleep out of the question," Pepper returned.

  "You are to take the floor with Miss Allan," Hewet continued, consultinga sheet of pencilled notes.

  Pepper stopped and began a discourse upon round dances, country dances,morris dances, and quadrilles, all of which are entirely superior to thebastard waltz and spurious polka which have ousted them most unjustlyin contemporary popularity--when the waiters gently pushed him on to histable in the corner.

  The dining-room at this moment had a certain fantastic resemblance to afarmyard scattered with grain on which bright pigeons kept descending.Almost all the ladies wore dresses which they had not yet displayed, andtheir hair rose in waves and scrolls so as to appear like carved wood inGothic churches rather than hair. The dinner was shorter and less formalthan usual, even the waiters seeming to be affected with the generalexcitement. Ten minutes before the clock struck nine the committee madea tour through the ballroom. The hall, when emptied of its furniture,brilliantly lit, adorned with flowers whose scent tinged the air,presented a wonderful appearance of ethereal gaiety.

  "It's like a starlit sky on an absolutely cloudless night," Hewetmurmured, looking about him, at the airy empty room.

  "A heavenly floor, anyhow," Evelyn added, taking a run and sliding twoor three feet along.

  "What about those curtains?" asked Hirst. The crimson curtains weredrawn across the long windows. "It's a perfect night outside."

  "Yes, but curtains inspire confidence," Miss Allan decided. "When theball is in full swing it will be time to draw them. We might even openthe windows a little. . . . If we do it now elderly people will imaginethere are draughts."

  Her wisdom had come to be recognised, and held in respect. Meanwhile asthey stood talking, the musicians were unwrapping their instruments, andthe violin was repeating again and again a note struck upon the piano.Everything was ready to begin.

  After a few minutes' pause, the father, the daughter, and the son-in-lawwho played the horn flourished with one accord. Like the rats whofollowed the piper, heads instantly appeared in the doorway. Therewas another flourish; and then the trio dashed spontaneously into thetriumphant swing of the waltz. It was as though the room were instantlyflooded with water. After a moment's hesitation first one couple, thenanother, leapt into mid-stream, and went round and round in the eddies.The rhythmic swish of the dancers sounded like a swirling pool. Bydegrees the room grew perceptibly hotter. The smell of kid glovesmingled with the strong scent of flowers. The eddies seemed to circlefaster and faster, until the music wrought itself into a crash, ceased,and the circles were smashed into little separate bits. The couplesstruck off in different directions, leaving a thin row of elderly peoplestuck fast to the walls, and here and there a piece of trimming or ahandkerchief or a flower lay upon the floor. There was a pause, and thenthe music started again, the eddies whirled, the couples circled roundin them, until there was a crash, and the circles were broken up intoseparate pieces.

  When this had happened about five times, Hirst, who leant against awindow-frame, like some singular gargoyle, perceived that Helen Ambroseand Rachel stood in the doorway. The crowd was such that they couldnot move, but he recognised them by a piece of Helen's shoulder and aglimpse of Rachel's head turning round. He made his way to them; theygreeted him with relief.

  "We are suffering the tortures of the damned," said Helen.

  "This is my idea of hell," said Rachel.

  Her eyes were bright and she looked bewildered.

  Hewet and Miss Allan, who had been waltzing somewhat laboriously, pausedand greeted the newcomers.

  "This _is_ nice," said Hewet. "But where is Mr. Ambrose?"

  "Pindar," said Helen. "May a married woman who was forty in Octoberdance? I can't stand still." She seemed to fade into Hewet, and theyboth dissolved in the crowd.

  "We must follow suit," said Hirst to Rachel, and he took her resolutelyby the elbow. Rachel, without being expert, danced well, because of agood ear for rhythm, but Hirst had no taste for music, and a few dancinglessons at Cambridge had only put him into possession of the anatomy ofa waltz, without imparting any of its spirit. A single turn proved tothem that their methods were incompatible; instead of fitting into eachother their bones seemed to jut out in angles making smooth turning animpossibility, and cutting, moreover, into the circular progress of theother dancers.

  "Shall we stop?" said Hirst. Rachel gathered from his expression that hewas annoyed.

  They staggered to seats in the corner, from which they had a view of theroom. It was still surging, in waves of blue and yellow, striped by theblack evening-clothes of the gentlemen.

  "An amazing spectacle," Hirst remarked. "Do you dance much in London?"They were both breathing fast, and both a little excited, though eachwas determined not to show any excitement at all.

  "Scarcely ever. Do you?"

  "My people give a dance every Christmas."

  "This isn't half a bad floor," Rachel said. Hirst did not attempt toanswer her platitude. He sat quite silent, staring at the dancers. Afterthree minutes the silence became so intolerable to Rachel that she wasgoaded to advance another commonplace about the beauty of the night.Hirst interrupted her ruthlessly.

  "Was that all nonsense what you said the other day about being aChristian and having no education?" he asked.

  "It was practically true," she replied. "But I also play the piano verywell," she said, "better, I expect than any one in this room. You arethe most distinguished man in England, aren't you?" she asked shyly.

  "One of the three," he corrected.

  Helen whirling past here tossed a fan into Rachel's lap.

  "She is very beautiful," Hirst remarked.

  They were again silent. Rachel was wondering whether he thought her alsonice-looking; St. John was considering the immense difficulty of talkingto girls who had no experience of life. Rachel had obviously neverthought or felt or seen anything, and she might be intelligent orshe might be just like all the rest. But Hewet's taunt rankled in hismind--"you don't know how to get on with women," and he was determinedto profit by this
opportunity. Her evening-clothes bestowed on her justthat degree of unreality and distinction which made it romantic to speakto her, and stirred a desire to talk, which irritated him because hedid not know how to begin. He glanced at her, and she seemed to himvery remote and inexplicable, very young and chaste. He drew a sigh, andbegan.

  "About books now. What have you read? Just Shakespeare and the Bible?"

  "I haven't read many classics," Rachel stated. She was slightlyannoyed by his jaunty and rather unnatural manner, while his masculineacquirements induced her to take a very modest view of her own power.

  "D'you mean to tell me you've reached the age of twenty-four withoutreading Gibbon?" he demanded.

  "Yes, I have," she answered.

  "Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, throwing out his hands. "You must beginto-morrow. I shall send you my copy. What I want to know is--" he lookedat her critically. "You see, the problem is, can one really talk to you?Have you got a mind, or are you like the rest of your sex? You seem tome absurdly young compared with men of your age."

  Rachel looked at him but said nothing.

  "About Gibbon," he continued. "D'you think you'll be able to appreciatehim? He's the test, of course. It's awfully difficult to tell aboutwomen," he continued, "how much, I mean, is due to lack of training,and how much is native incapacity. I don't see myself why you shouldn'tunderstand--only I suppose you've led an absurd life until now--you'vejust walked in a crocodile, I suppose, with your hair down your back."

  The music was again beginning. Hirst's eye wandered about the room insearch of Mrs. Ambrose. With the best will in the world he was consciousthat they were not getting on well together.

  "I'd like awfully to lend you books," he said, buttoning his gloves,and rising from his seat. "We shall meet again. I'm going to leave younow."

  He got up and left her.

  Rachel looked round. She felt herself surrounded, like a child at aparty, by the faces of strangers all hostile to her, with hooked nosesand sneering, indifferent eyes. She was by a window, she pushed it openwith a jerk. She stepped out into the garden. Her eyes swam with tearsof rage.

  "Damn that man!" she exclaimed, having acquired some of Helen's words."Damn his insolence!"

  She stood in the middle of the pale square of light which the windowshe had opened threw upon the grass. The forms of great black trees rosemassively in front of her. She stood still, looking at them, shiveringslightly with anger and excitement. She heard the trampling and swingingof the dancers behind her, and the rhythmic sway of the waltz music.

  "There are trees," she said aloud. Would the trees make up for St. JohnHirst? She would be a Persian princess far from civilisation, riding herhorse upon the mountains alone, and making her women sing to her in theevening, far from all this, from the strife and men and women--aform came out of the shadow; a little red light burnt high up in itsblackness.

  "Miss Vinrace, is it?" said Hewet, peering at her. "You were dancingwith Hirst?"

  "He's made me furious!" she cried vehemently. "No one's any right to beinsolent!"

  "Insolent?" Hewet repeated, taking his cigar from his mouth in surprise."Hirst--insolent?"

  "It's insolent to--" said Rachel, and stopped. She did not know exactlywhy she had been made so angry. With a great effort she pulled herselftogether.

  "Oh, well," she added, the vision of Helen and her mockery before her,"I dare say I'm a fool." She made as though she were going back into theballroom, but Hewet stopped her.

  "Please explain to me," he said. "I feel sure Hirst didn't mean to hurtyou."

  When Rachel tried to explain, she found it very difficult. She could notsay that she found the vision of herself walking in a crocodile with herhair down her back peculiarly unjust and horrible, nor could she explainwhy Hirst's assumption of the superiority of his nature and experiencehad seemed to her not only galling but terrible--as if a gate hadclanged in her face. Pacing up and down the terrace beside Hewet shesaid bitterly:

  "It's no good; we should live separate; we cannot understand each other;we only bring out what's worst."

  Hewet brushed aside her generalisation as to the natures of the twosexes, for such generalisations bored him and seemed to him generallyuntrue. But, knowing Hirst, he guessed fairly accurately what hadhappened, and, though secretly much amused, was determined that Rachelshould not store the incident away in her mind to take its place in theview she had of life.

  "Now you'll hate him," he said, "which is wrong. Poor old Hirst--hecan't help his method. And really, Miss Vinrace, he was doing his best;he was paying you a compliment--he was trying--he was trying--" he couldnot finish for the laughter that overcame him.

  Rachel veered round suddenly and laughed out too. She saw that there wassomething ridiculous about Hirst, and perhaps about herself.

  "It's his way of making friends, I suppose," she laughed. "Well--I shalldo my part. I shall begin--'Ugly in body, repulsive in mind as you are,Mr. Hirst--"

  "Hear, hear!" cried Hewet. "That's the way to treat him. You see, MissVinrace, you must make allowances for Hirst. He's lived all his lifein front of a looking-glass, so to speak, in a beautiful panelled room,hung with Japanese prints and lovely old chairs and tables, just onesplash of colour, you know, in the right place,--between the windowsI think it is,--and there he sits hour after hour with his toes on thefender, talking about philosophy and God and his liver and his heart andthe hearts of his friends. They're all broken. You can't expect him tobe at his best in a ballroom. He wants a cosy, smoky, masculineplace, where he can stretch his legs out, and only speak when he's gotsomething to say. For myself, I find it rather dreary. But I do respectit. They're all so much in earnest. They do take the serious things veryseriously."

  The description of Hirst's way of life interested Rachel so much thatshe almost forgot her private grudge against him, and her respectrevived.

  "They are really very clever then?" she asked.

  "Of course they are. So far as brains go I think it's true what he saidthe other day; they're the cleverest people in England. But--you oughtto take him in hand," he added. "There's a great deal more in him than'sever been got at. He wants some one to laugh at him. . . . The idea ofHirst telling you that you've had no experiences! Poor old Hirst!"

  They had been pacing up and down the terrace while they talked, and nowone by one the dark windows were uncurtained by an invisible hand, andpanes of light fell regularly at equal intervals upon the grass. Theystopped to look in at the drawing-room, and perceived Mr. Pepper writingalone at a table.

  "There's Pepper writing to his aunt," said Hewet. "She must be a veryremarkable old lady, eighty-five he tells me, and he takes her forwalking tours in the New Forest. . . . Pepper!" he cried, rapping on thewindow. "Go and do your duty. Miss Allan expects you."

  When they came to the windows of the ballroom, the swing of the dancersand the lilt of the music was irresistible.

  "Shall we?" said Hewet, and they clasped hands and swept offmagnificently into the great swirling pool. Although this was only thesecond time they had met, the first time they had seen a man and womankissing each other, and the second time Mr. Hewet had found that a youngwoman angry is very like a child. So that when they joined hands in thedance they felt more at their ease than is usual.

  It was midnight and the dance was now at its height. Servants werepeeping in at the windows; the garden was sprinkled with the whiteshapes of couples sitting out. Mrs. Thornbury and Mrs. Elliot sat sideby side under a palm tree, holding fans, handkerchiefs, and broochesdeposited in their laps by flushed maidens. Occasionally they exchangedcomments.

  "Miss Warrington _does_ look happy," said Mrs. Elliot; they both smiled;they both sighed.

  "He has a great deal of character," said Mrs. Thornbury, alluding toArthur.

  "And character is what one wants," said Mrs. Elliot. "Now that youngman is _clever_ enough," she added, nodding at Hirst, who came past withMiss Allan on his arm.

  "He does not look strong," said Mrs. Thornbury. "H
is complexion isnot good.--Shall I tear it off?" she asked, for Rachel had stopped,conscious of a long strip trailing behind her.

  "I hope you are enjoying yourselves?" Hewet asked the ladies.

  "This is a very familiar position for me!" smiled Mrs. Thornbury. "Ihave brought out five daughters--and they all loved dancing! You love ittoo, Miss Vinrace?" she asked, looking at Rachel with maternal eyes. "Iknow I did when I was your age. How I used to beg my mother to let mestay--and now I sympathise with the poor mothers--but I sympathise withthe daughters too!"

  She smiled sympathetically, and at the same time rather keenly, atRachel.

  "They seem to find a great deal to say to each other," said Mrs. Elliot,looking significantly at the backs of the couple as they turned away."Did you notice at the picnic? He was the only person who could make herutter."

  "Her father is a very interesting man," said Mrs. Thornbury. "He has oneof the largest shipping businesses in Hull. He made a very able reply,you remember, to Mr. Asquith at the last election. It is so interestingto find that a man of his experience is a strong Protectionist."

  She would have liked to discuss politics, which interested her more thanpersonalities, but Mrs. Elliot would only talk about the Empire in aless abstract form.

  "I hear there are dreadful accounts from England about the rats," shesaid. "A sister-in-law, who lives at Norwich, tells me it has been quiteunsafe to order poultry. The plague--you see. It attacks the rats, andthrough them other creatures."

  "And the local authorities are not taking proper steps?" asked Mrs.Thornbury.

  "That she does not say. But she describes the attitude of the educatedpeople--who should know better--as callous in the extreme. Of course,my sister-in-law is one of those active modern women, who always takesthings up, you know--the kind of woman one admires, though one does notfeel, at least I do not feel--but then she has a constitution of iron."

  Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy, heresighed.

  "A very animated face," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. whohad stopped near them to pin tight a scarlet flower at her breast. Itwould not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience, she thrustit into her partner's button-hole. He was a tall melancholy youth, whoreceived the gift as a knight might receive his lady's token.

  "Very trying to the eyes," was Mrs. Eliot's next remark, after watchingthe yellow whirl in which so few of the whirlers had either name orcharacter for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd, Helenapproached them, and took a vacant chair.

  "May I sit by you?" she said, smiling and breathing fast. "I suppose Iought to be ashamed of myself," she went on, sitting down, "at my age."

  Her beauty, now that she was flushed and animated, was more expansivethan usual, and both the ladies felt the same desire to touch her.

  "I _am_ enjoying myself," she panted. "Movement--isn't it amazing?"

  "I have always heard that nothing comes up to dancing if one is a gooddancer," said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at her with a smile.

  Helen swayed slightly as if she sat on wires.

  "I could dance for ever!" she said. "They ought to let themselves gomore!" she exclaimed. "They ought to leap and swing. Look! How theymince!"

  "Have you seen those wonderful Russian dancers?" began Mrs. Elliot. ButHelen saw her partner coming and rose as the moon rises. She was halfround the room before they took their eyes off her, for they could nothelp admiring her, although they thought it a little odd that a woman ofher age should enjoy dancing.

  Directly Helen was left alone for a minute she was joined by St. JohnHirst, who had been watching for an opportunity.

  "Should you mind sitting out with me?" he asked. "I'm quite incapableof dancing." He piloted Helen to a corner which was supplied with twoarm-chairs, and thus enjoyed the advantage of semi-privacy. They satdown, and for a few minutes Helen was too much under the influence ofdancing to speak.

  "Astonishing!" she exclaimed at last. "What sort of shape can she thinkher body is?" This remark was called forth by a lady who came past them,waddling rather than walking, and leaning on the arm of a stout man withglobular green eyes set in a fat white face. Some support was necessary,for she was very stout, and so compressed that the upper part of herbody hung considerably in advance of her feet, which could only trip intiny steps, owing to the tightness of the skirt round her ankles. Thedress itself consisted of a small piece of shiny yellow satin, adornedhere and there indiscriminately with round shields of blue and greenbeads made to imitate hues of a peacock's breast. On the summit of afrothy castle of hair a purple plume stood erect, while her short neckwas encircled by a black velvet ribbon knobbed with gems, and goldenbracelets were tightly wedged into the flesh of her fat gloved arms. Shehad the face of an impertinent but jolly little pig, mottled red under adusting of powder.

  St. John could not join in Helen's laughter.

  "It makes me sick," he declared. "The whole thing makes me sick. . . .Consider the minds of those people--their feelings. Don't you agree?"

  "I always make a vow never to go to another party of any description,"Helen replied, "and I always break it."

  She leant back in her chair and looked laughingly at the young man.She could see that he was genuinely cross, if at the same time slightlyexcited.

  "However," he said, resuming his jaunty tone, "I suppose one must justmake up one's mind to it."

  "To what?"

  "There never will be more than five people in the world worth talkingto."

  Slowly the flush and sparkle in Helen's face died away, and she lookedas quiet and as observant as usual.

  "Five people?" she remarked. "I should say there were more than five."

  "You've been very fortunate, then," said Hirst. "Or perhaps I've beenvery unfortunate." He became silent.

  "Should you say I was a difficult kind of person to get on with?" heasked sharply.

  "Most clever people are when they're young," Helen replied.

  "And of course I am--immensely clever," said Hirst. "I'm infinitelycleverer than Hewet. It's quite possible," he continued in his curiouslyimpersonal manner, "that I'm going to be one of the people who reallymatter. That's utterly different from being clever, though one can'texpect one's family to see it," he added bitterly.

  Helen thought herself justified in asking, "Do you find your familydifficult to get on with?"

  "Intolerable. . . . They want me to be a peer and a privy councillor.I've come out here partly in order to settle the matter. It's got to besettled. Either I must go to the bar, or I must stay on in Cambridge. Ofcourse, there are obvious drawbacks to each, but the arguments certainlydo seem to me in favour of Cambridge. This kind of thing!" he waved hishand at the crowded ballroom. "Repulsive. I'm conscious of great powersof affection too. I'm not susceptible, of course, in the way Hewetis. I'm very fond of a few people. I think, for example, that there'ssomething to be said for my mother, though she is in many ways sodeplorable. . . . At Cambridge, of course, I should inevitably becomethe most important man in the place, but there are other reasons why Idread Cambridge--" he ceased.

  "Are you finding me a dreadful bore?" he asked. He changed curiouslyfrom a friend confiding in a friend to a conventional young man at aparty.

  "Not in the least," said Helen. "I like it very much."

  "You can't think," he exclaimed, speaking almost with emotion, "whata difference it makes finding someone to talk to! Directly I saw you Ifelt you might possibly understand me. I'm very fond of Hewet, but hehasn't the remotest idea what I'm like. You're the only woman I've evermet who seems to have the faintest conception of what I mean when I saya thing."

  The next dance was beginning; it was the Barcarolle out of Hoffman,which made Helen beat her toe in time to it; but she felt that aftersuch a compliment it was impossible to get up and go, and, besidesbeing amused, she was really flattered, and the honesty of his conceitattracted her. She suspected that he was not happy, and was sufficientlyfeminine to wish to receive
confidences.

  "I'm very old," she sighed.

  "The odd thing is that I don't find you old at all," he replied. "I feelas though we were exactly the same age. Moreover--" here he hesitated,but took courage from a glance at her face, "I feel as if I could talkquite plainly to you as one does to a man--about the relations betweenthe sexes, about . . . and . . ."

  In spite of his certainty a slight redness came into his face as hespoke the last two words.

  She reassured him at once by the laugh with which she exclaimed, "Ishould hope so!"

  He looked at her with real cordiality, and the lines which were drawnabout his nose and lips slackened for the first time.

  "Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Now we can behave like civilised humanbeings."

  Certainly a barrier which usually stands fast had fallen, and it waspossible to speak of matters which are generally only alluded to betweenmen and women when doctors are present, or the shadow of death. In fiveminutes he was telling her the history of his life. It was long, for itwas full of extremely elaborate incidents, which led on to a discussionof the principles on which morality is founded, and thus to several veryinteresting matters, which even in this ballroom had to be discussed ina whisper, lest one of the pouter pigeon ladies or resplendent merchantsshould overhear them, and proceed to demand that they should leave theplace. When they had come to an end, or, to speak more accurately, whenHelen intimated by a slight slackening of her attention that they hadsat there long enough, Hirst rose, exclaiming, "So there's no reasonwhatever for all this mystery!"

  "None, except that we are English people," she answered. She took hisarm and they crossed the ball-room, making their way with difficultybetween the spinning couples, who were now perceptibly dishevelled,and certainly to a critical eye by no means lovely in their shapes. Theexcitement of undertaking a friendship and the length of their talk,made them hungry, and they went in search of food to the dining-room,which was now full of people eating at little separate tables. In thedoorway they met Rachel, going up to dance again with Arthur Venning.She was flushed and looked very happy, and Helen was struck by the factthat in this mood she was certainly more attractive than the generalityof young women. She had never noticed it so clearly before.

  "Enjoying yourself?" she asked, as they stopped for a second.

  "Miss Vinrace," Arthur answered for her, "has just made a confessionshe'd no idea that dances could be so delightful."

  "Yes!" Rachel exclaimed. "I've changed my view of life completely!"

  "You don't say so!" Helen mocked. They passed on.

  "That's typical of Rachel," she said. "She changes her view of lifeabout every other day. D'you know, I believe you're just the person Iwant," she said, as they sat down, "to help me complete her education?She's been brought up practically in a nunnery. Her father's too absurd.I've been doing what I can--but I'm too old, and I'm a woman. Whyshouldn't you talk to her--explain things to her--talk to her, I mean,as you talk to me?"

  "I have made one attempt already this evening," said St. John. "Irather doubt that it was successful. She seems to me so very young andinexperienced. I have promised to lend her Gibbon."

  "It's not Gibbon exactly," Helen pondered. "It's the facts of life, Ithink--d'you see what I mean? What really goes on, what people feel,although they generally try to hide it? There's nothing to be frightenedof. It's so much more beautiful than the pretences--always moreinteresting--always better, I should say, than _that_ kind of thing."

  She nodded her head at a table near them, where two girls and twoyoung men were chaffing each other very loudly, and carrying on an archinsinuating dialogue, sprinkled with endearments, about, it seemed, apair of stockings or a pair of legs. One of the girls was flirting a fanand pretending to be shocked, and the sight was very unpleasant, partlybecause it was obvious that the girls were secretly hostile to eachother.

  "In my old age, however," Helen sighed, "I'm coming to think that itdoesn't much matter in the long run what one does: people always gotheir own way--nothing will ever influence them." She nodded her head atthe supper party.

  But St. John did not agree. He said that he thought one could reallymake a great deal of difference by one's point of view, books and soon, and added that few things at the present time mattered more than theenlightenment of women. He sometimes thought that almost everything wasdue to education.

  In the ballroom, meanwhile, the dancers were being formed into squaresfor the lancers. Arthur and Rachel, Susan and Hewet, Miss Allan andHughling Elliot found themselves together.

  Miss Allan looked at her watch.

  "Half-past one," she stated. "And I have to despatch Alexander Popeto-morrow."

  "Pope!" snorted Mr. Elliot. "Who reads Pope, I should like to know?And as for reading about him--No, no, Miss Allan; be persuaded you willbenefit the world much more by dancing than by writing." It was one ofMr. Elliot's affectations that nothing in the world could comparewith the delights of dancing--nothing in the world was so tedious asliterature. Thus he sought pathetically enough to ingratiate himselfwith the young, and to prove to them beyond a doubt that though marriedto a ninny of a wife, and rather pale and bent and careworn by hisweight of learning, he was as much alive as the youngest of them all.

  "It's a question of bread and butter," said Miss Allan calmly. "However,they seem to expect me." She took up her position and pointed a squareblack toe.

  "Mr. Hewet, you bow to me." It was evident at once that Miss Allan wasthe only one of them who had a thoroughly sound knowledge of the figuresof the dance.

  After the lancers there was a waltz; after the waltz a polka; and thena terrible thing happened; the music, which had been sounding regularlywith five-minute pauses, stopped suddenly. The lady with the great darkeyes began to swathe her violin in silk, and the gentleman placed hishorn carefully in its case. They were surrounded by couples imploringthem in English, in French, in Spanish, of one more dance, one only; itwas still early. But the old man at the piano merely exhibited his watchand shook his head. He turned up the collar of his coat and produceda red silk muffler, which completely dashed his festive appearance.Strange as it seemed, the musicians were pale and heavy-eyed; theylooked bored and prosaic, as if the summit of their desire was cold meatand beer, succeeded immediately by bed.

  Rachel was one of those who had begged them to continue. When theyrefused she began turning over the sheets of dance music which lay uponthe piano. The pieces were generally bound in coloured covers, withpictures on them of romantic scenes--gondoliers astride on the crescentof the moon, nuns peering through the bars of a convent window, or youngwomen with their hair down pointing a gun at the stars. She rememberedthat the general effect of the music to which they had danced so gailywas one of passionate regret for dead love and the innocent years ofyouth; dreadful sorrows had always separated the dancers from their pasthappiness.

  "No wonder they get sick of playing stuff like this," she remarkedreading a bar or two; "they're really hymn tunes, played very fast, withbits out of Wagner and Beethoven."

  "Do you play? Would you play? Anything, so long as we can dance to it!"From all sides her gift for playing the piano was insisted upon, andshe had to consent. As very soon she had played the only pieces of dancemusic she could remember, she went on to play an air from a sonata byMozart.

  "But that's not a dance," said some one pausing by the piano.

  "It is," she replied, emphatically nodding her head. "Invent the steps."Sure of her melody she marked the rhythm boldly so as to simplify theway. Helen caught the idea; seized Miss Allan by the arm, and whirledround the room, now curtseying, now spinning round, now tripping thisway and that like a child skipping through a meadow.

  "This is the dance for people who don't know how to dance!" she cried.The tune changed to a minuet; St. John hopped with incredible swiftnessfirst on his left leg, then on his right; the tune flowed melodiously;Hewet, swaying his arms and holding out the tails of his coat, swam downthe room in imitation of the voluptuous dreamy
dance of an Indian maidendancing before her Rajah. The tune marched; and Miss Allen advanced withskirts extended and bowed profoundly to the engaged pair. Oncetheir feet fell in with the rhythm they showed a complete lack ofself-consciousness. From Mozart Rachel passed without stopping to oldEnglish hunting songs, carols, and hymn tunes, for, as she had observed,any good tune, with a little management, became a tune one could danceto. By degrees every person in the room was tripping and turning inpairs or alone. Mr. Pepper executed an ingenious pointed step derivedfrom figure-skating, for which he once held some local championship;while Mrs. Thornbury tried to recall an old country dance which she hadseen danced by her father's tenants in Dorsetshire in the old days. Asfor Mr. and Mrs. Elliot, they gallopaded round and round the room withsuch impetuosity that the other dancers shivered at their approach. Somepeople were heard to criticise the performance as a romp; to others itwas the most enjoyable part of the evening.

  "Now for the great round dance!" Hewet shouted. Instantly a giganticcircle was formed, the dancers holding hands and shouting out, "D'youken John Peel," as they swung faster and faster and faster, until thestrain was too great, and one link of the chain--Mrs. Thornbury--gaveway, and the rest went flying across the room in all directions, toland upon the floor or the chairs or in each other's arms as seemed mostconvenient.

  Rising from these positions, breathless and unkempt, it struck them forthe first time that the electric lights pricked the air very vainly, andinstinctively a great many eyes turned to the windows. Yes--there wasthe dawn. While they had been dancing the night had passed, and it hadcome. Outside, the mountains showed very pure and remote; the dew wassparkling on the grass, and the sky was flushed with blue, save for thepale yellows and pinks in the East. The dancers came crowding to thewindows, pushed them open, and here and there ventured a foot upon thegrass.

  "How silly the poor old lights look!" said Evelyn M. in a curiouslysubdued tone of voice. "And ourselves; it isn't becoming." It was true;the untidy hair, and the green and yellow gems, which had seemed sofestive half an hour ago, now looked cheap and slovenly. The complexionsof the elder ladies suffered terribly, and, as if conscious that a coldeye had been turned upon them, they began to say good-night and to maketheir way up to bed.

  Rachel, though robbed of her audience, had gone on playing to herself.From John Peel she passed to Bach, who was at this time the subject ofher intense enthusiasm, and one by one some of the younger dancerscame in from the garden and sat upon the deserted gilt chairs round thepiano, the room being now so clear that they turned out the lights. Asthey sat and listened, their nerves were quieted; the heat and sorenessof their lips, the result of incessant talking and laughing, wassmoothed away. They sat very still as if they saw a building with spacesand columns succeeding each other rising in the empty space. Then theybegan to see themselves and their lives, and the whole of human lifeadvancing very nobly under the direction of the music. They feltthemselves ennobled, and when Rachel stopped playing they desirednothing but sleep.

  Susan rose. "I think this has been the happiest night of my life!" sheexclaimed. "I do adore music," she said, as she thanked Rachel. "It justseems to say all the things one can't say oneself." She gave a nervouslittle laugh and looked from one to another with great benignity, asthough she would like to say something but could not find the words inwhich to express it. "Every one's been so kind--so very kind," she said.Then she too went to bed.

  The party having ended in the very abrupt way in which parties do end,Helen and Rachel stood by the door with their cloaks on, looking for acarriage.

  "I suppose you realise that there are no carriages left?" said St. John,who had been out to look. "You must sleep here."

  "Oh, no," said Helen; "we shall walk."

  "May we come too?" Hewet asked. "We can't go to bed. Imagine lying amongbolsters and looking at one's washstand on a morning like this--Is thatwhere you live?" They had begun to walk down the avenue, and he turnedand pointed at the white and green villa on the hillside, which seemedto have its eyes shut.

  "That's not a light burning, is it?" Helen asked anxiously.

  "It's the sun," said St. John. The upper windows had each a spot of goldon them.

  "I was afraid it was my husband, still reading Greek," she said. "Allthis time he's been editing _Pindar_."

  They passed through the town and turned up the steep road, which wasperfectly clear, though still unbordered by shadows. Partly becausethey were tired, and partly because the early light subdued them, theyscarcely spoke, but breathed in the delicious fresh air, which seemedto belong to a different state of life from the air at midday. When theycame to the high yellow wall, where the lane turned off from the road,Helen was for dismissing the two young men.

  "You've come far enough," she said. "Go back to bed."

  But they seemed unwilling to move.

  "Let's sit down a moment," said Hewet. He spread his coat on the ground."Let's sit down and consider." They sat down and looked out over thebay; it was very still, the sea was rippling faintly, and lines of greenand blue were beginning to stripe it. There were no sailing boats asyet, but a steamer was anchored in the bay, looking very ghostly in themist; it gave one unearthly cry, and then all was silent.

  Rachel occupied herself in collecting one grey stone after anotherand building them into a little cairn; she did it very quietly andcarefully.

  "And so you've changed your view of life, Rachel?" said Helen.

  Rachel added another stone and yawned. "I don't remember," she said, "Ifeel like a fish at the bottom of the sea." She yawned again. None ofthese people possessed any power to frighten her out here in the dawn,and she felt perfectly familiar even with Mr. Hirst.

  "My brain, on the contrary," said Hirst, "is in a condition of abnormalactivity." He sat in his favourite position with his arms binding hislegs together and his chin resting on the top of his knees. "I seethrough everything--absolutely everything. Life has no more mysteriesfor me." He spoke with conviction, but did not appear to wish for ananswer. Near though they sat, and familiar though they felt, they seemedmere shadows to each other.

  "And all those people down there going to sleep," Hewet began dreamily,"thinking such different things,--Miss Warrington, I suppose, is now onher knees; the Elliots are a little startled, it's not often _they_ getout of breath, and they want to get to sleep as quickly as possible;then there's the poor lean young man who danced all night withEvelyn; he's putting his flower in water and asking himself, 'Is thislove?'--and poor old Perrott, I daresay, can't get to sleep at all,and is reading his favourite Greek book to console himself--and theothers--no, Hirst," he wound up, "I don't find it simple at all."

  "I have a key," said Hirst cryptically. His chin was still upon hisknees and his eyes fixed in front of him.

  A silence followed. Then Helen rose and bade them good-night. "But," shesaid, "remember that you've got to come and see us."

  They waved good-night and parted, but the two young men did not go backto the hotel; they went for a walk, during which they scarcelyspoke, and never mentioned the names of the two women, who were, to aconsiderable extent, the subject of their thoughts. They did not wishto share their impressions. They returned to the hotel in time forbreakfast.