CHAPTER XVI
SEEING CHRIST CHURCH
Boreham had been very successful that afternoon. He had managed tosecure Mrs. Dashwood without having to be rude to her hostess. He haddone it by exchanging Mrs. Potten for the younger lady with a deftnesson which he congratulated himself, though it was true that Lady Dashwoodhad said to May Dashwood, "Go and see over the College with Mr.Boreham."
Miss Scott was, most fortunately, absorbed in playing at shop with Mrs.Harding.
Boreham's course was clear. He calculated with satisfaction that he hada good hour before him alone with Mrs. Dashwood. He could show her everycorner of Christ Church and do it slowly; the brief explanation (of adisparaging nature) that he would be obliged to make on the details ofthat historic building would only serve to help him out at, perhaps,difficult moments. It would be easier for him to talk freely and prepareher mind for a proper appreciation of the future which lay before her,while he walked beside her and pointed out irrelevant things, than itwould have been if he had been obliged to sit still in a chair facingher, for example, and stick to his subject. It seemed to him best tobegin by speaking quite frankly in praise of himself. Boreham had hisdoubts whether any man is really humble in his estimation of himself,however much he may pretend to be; and if, indeed, any man were trulyhumble, then, in Boreham's opinion, that man was a fool.
As soon as they had crossed St. Aldates and had entered the gate underTom Tower, Boreham introduced the subject of his own merits, by glancinground the great quadrangle and remarking that he was thankful that hehad never been subjected to the fossilising routine of a classicaleducation.
"The study of dead languages is a 'cul-de-sac,'" he explained. "You cansee the effect it has had in the very atmosphere of Oxford. You can seethe effect it has had on Middleton, dear fellow, who got a double First,and the Ireland, and everything else proper and useless, and who isnow--what? A conscientious schoolmaster, and nothing more!"
It was necessary to bring Middleton in because May Dashwood might nothave had the time or the opportunity of observing all Middleton'slimitations. She probably would imagine that he was a man of ideas andoriginality. She would take for granted (not knowing) that the head ofan Oxford College was a weighty person, a successful person. AlsoMiddleton was a good-looking-man, as good-looking as he, Boreham, washimself (only of a more conventional type), and therefore not to bedespised from the mere woman's point of view.
Boreham peered eagerly at his companion's profile to see how she tookthis criticism of Middleton.
May was taking it quite calmly, and even smiled. "So far, good," saidBoreham to himself, and he went on to compare his larger view of lifeand deeper knowledge of "facts" with the restricted outlook of theOxford Don. This she apparently accepted as "understood," for she smiledagain, and this triumph of Boreham's was achieved while they looked overthe Christ Church library.
"The first thing," said Boreham, when they came again into the openair--"the first thing that a man has to do is to be a man of the worldthat we actually live in, not of the world as it was!"
"Yes," said Mrs. Dashwood "the world we actually live in."
"You agree?" he said brightly.
She smiled again.
"Oxford might have been vitalised; might, I say, if, by good luck,somebody had discovered a coal mine under the Broad, or the High, andthe University had been compelled to adjust itself to the practicalrequirements of the world of labour and of commerce, and to drop itsmediaeval methods for those of the modern world."
May confessed that she had not thought of this way of improving theancient University, but she suggested that some of the provincialuniversities had the advantage of being in the neighbourhood of coalmines or in industrial centres.
Boreham, however, waived the point, for his spirits were rising, and thesight of Bingham in the distance, carrying his table-cloth and slippersand looking wistfully at nothing in particular, gave him increasedconfidence in his main plan.
"This staircase," said Boreham, "leads to the hall. Shall we go in? Isuppose you ought to see it."
"What a lovely roof!" exclaimed May, when they reached the foot of thestaircase.
Boreham admitted that it was fine, but he insisted that it was too goodfor the place, and he went on with his main discourse.
When they entered the dining-hall, the dignity of the room, with itsnoble ceiling, its rich windows and the glow of the portraits on thewalls, brought another exclamation from May's lips.
But all this academic splendour annoyed Boreham extremely. It seemed tojeer at him as an outsider.
"It's too good for the collection of asses who dine here," he said.
As to the portraits, he insisted that among them all, among all theseso-called distinguished men, there was not one that possessed any realoriginality and power--except perhaps the painter Watts.
"It's so like Oxford," he added, "to produce nothing distinctive."
May laughed now, with a subdued laughter that was a little irritating,because it was uncalled for.
"I am laughing," she explained, "because 'the world we actually live in'is such a funny place and is so full of funny people--ourselvesincluded."
That was not a reason for laughter if it were true, and it was not truethat she was, or that he was "funny." If she had been "funny" he wouldnot have been in love with her. He detained her in front of the portraitof Wesley.
"I wonder they have had the sense to keep him here," said Boreham. "Heis a perpetual reminder to them of the scandalous torpor of the Churchwhich repudiated him. Yes, I wonder they tolerate him. Anyhow, I supposethey tolerate him because, after all, they tolerate anybody who tries tokeep alive a lost cause. Religion was dying a natural death and, insteadof letting it die, he revived it for a bit. It was as good as you couldexpect from an Oxford man! When an Oxford man revolts, he only revoltsin order to take up some lost cause, some survival!"
"I suppose," said May, "that if Wesley had had the advantage of being atone of the provincial colleges, he would have invented a new soap,instead of strewing the place with nonconformist chapels?"
This sarcasm of May's would have been exasperating, only that themention of soap quite naturally suggested children who had to besoaped, and children did bring Boreham actually to an important point.He did not really care two straws about Wesley. He went straight forthis point. He put a few piercing questions to May about her work amongchildren in London. Strangely enough she did not respond. She gave himone or two brief answers of the vaguest description, while she turnedaway to look at more portraits. Boreham, however, had only put thequestions as a delicate approach to _the_ subject. He did not reallywant any answers, and he proceeded to point out to her that her work,though it was undertaken in the most altruistic spirit, and appeared tobe useful to the superficial observer, was really not helpful butharmful to the community. And this for two reasons. He would explainthem. Firstly, because it blinded people who were interested in socialquestions to the need for the endowment of mothers; and secondly, thecare of other women's children did not really satisfy the maternalinstinct in women. It excited their emotions and gave them theimpression that these emotions were satisfying. They were not. He hintedthat if May would consult any pathologist he would tell her that, inninety-nine cases out of a hundred, a life like hers, seemingly so full,would not save a woman from the disastrous effects of being childless.
Now, Boreham was convinced that women rarely understand what it is theyreally want. Women believe that they want to become clerks or postmen orlawyers, when all the time what they want and need is to become mothers.For instance, it was a common thing for a woman who had no interest indrama and who couldn't act, to want to be an actress. What she reallywanted then was an increased opportunity of meeting the other sex.
Boreham put this before May Dashwood, and was gratified at the receptionof his remarks.
"What you say _is_ true," she said, "though so few people have thecourage to say it."
Boreham went on. He felt th
at May Dashwood, in spite of all hersharpness, was profoundly ignorant of her own psychology. It wasnecessary to enlighten her, to make her understand that it was not herduty to go on mourning for a husband who was dead, but that it was herduty to make the best of her own life. He entirely exonerated her fromthe charge of humbug in her desire to mother slum children; all hewanted was for her to understand that it wasn't of any use either toherself or to the community. How well she was taking it!
He had barely finished speaking when he became unpleasantly aware thattwo ladies, who had just entered, were staring at himself and hiscompanion instead of examining the hall. The strangers were foreigners,to judge by the boldness with which they wore hats that bore no relationto the shape or the dignity of the human head. They were evidentlyarrested and curious.
May did not speak for some moments, after they both moved away from theportraits. Boreham watched her, rather breathlessly, for things weregoing right and coming to a crisis.
"You are quite right," she repeated, at last. "But people haven't thecourage to say so!"
"You think so?" he replied eagerly. He now appreciated, as he had neverdone before, how much he scored by possessing, along with the subtleintuitions of the Celt, the plain common-sense of his English mother.
"I am preparing my mind," said May, as they approached the door of thehall, "to face a future chequered by fits of hysteria."
"But why!" urged Boreham, and he could not conceal his agitation; "whenI spoke of the endowment of mothers I did not mean that I personallywanted any interference (at present) with our system of monogamy. TheBritish public thinks it believes in monogamy and I, personally, thinkthat monogamy is workable, under certain circumstances. It would bepossible for me under certain circumstances."
The sublimity of his self-sacrifice almost brought tears to Boreham'seyes. May quickened her steps, and he opened the door for her to go intothe lobby. As he went through himself he could see that the twostrangers had turned and were watching them. He damned them under hisbreath and pulled the door to.
"There are women," he went on, as he followed her down the stairs, "whohave breadth of character and brains that command the fidelity of men. Ineed not tell _you_ this."
May was descending slowly and looked as if she thought she was alone.
"'Age cannot wither, nor custom stale thy infinite variety,'" hewhispered behind her, and he found the words strangely difficult topronounce because of his emotion. He moved alertly into step with herand gazed at her profile.
"When that is said to a woman, well, a moderately young woman," remarkedMay, "a woman who is, say, twenty-eight--I am twenty-eight--it has nopoint I am afraid!"
"No point?" exclaimed Boreham.
"No point," repeated May. "How do you know that thirty years from now,when I am on the verge of sixty, that I shan't be withered--unless,indeed, I get too stout?" she added pensively.
"You will always be young," said Boreham, fervently; "young, like Ninonde l'Enclos."
May had now reached the ground, and she walked out on to the terraceinto open daylight.
Boreham was at her side immediately, and she turned and looked at him.His pale blue eyes blinked at her, for he was aware that hers werehostile! Why?
"You would seem young to me," he said, trying to feel brave.
"Men and women ought," she said, with emphasis on the word "ought"--"menand women ought to wither and grow old in the service of Humanity. Ithink nothing is more pathetic than the sight of an old woman trying tolook young instead of learning the lesson of life, the lesson we arehere to learn!"
Boreham had had barely time to recover from the blow when she added inthe sweetest tone--
"There, that's a scolding for you and for Ninon de l'Enclos!"
"But I don't mean----" began Boreham. "I haven't put it--you don't takemy words quite correctly."
May was already walking on into the open archway that led to thecathedral. Before them stood the great western doors, and she saw themand stopped. Boreham wished to goodness that he had waited till theywere in the cathedral before he had made his quotation. Through the opendoors of that ancient building he could hear somebody playing the organ.That would have been the proper emotional accompaniment for thoseimmortal lines of Shakespeare. He pictured a corner of the Latin chapeland an obscure tender light. Why had he begun to talk in the glare of apublic thoroughfare?
"Shall we go inside?" he asked urgently. "One can't talk here."
But May turned to go back. "I should like to see the cathedral someother time," she said. "I must thank you very much for having shown meover the College--and--explained everything."
"Yes; but----" stammered Boreham. "We can get into the cathedral."
She was actually beginning to hold out her hand as if to say Good-bye.
"Not now," she said; and before he had time to argue further, Binghamcame suddenly upon them from somewhere, and expressed so much surpriseat seeing them that it was evident that he had been on the watch. He haddisposed of his purchases and was a free man. He had actually pouncedupon them like a bird of prey--and stealthily too. It was a mean trickto have played.
"Are you coming out or going in?" asked Bingham.
"Neither," said May, turning to him as if she was glad of his approach.
"You've seen it before?" said Bingham.
"No, not yet," said May.
"It's as nice a place as you could find anywhere," said Bingham, calmly,"for doing a bit of Joss."
Boreham's brain surged with indignation. This man's intrusion at such amoment was insupportable. Yes, and he had got rid of his miserabletable-cloth and shoes, probably taken them to Harding's house, and wasgoing to tea there too. Not only this, but here he was talking in hisjesting way, exactly in the same soft drawling voice in which he reeledoff Latin quotations, and so it went down--yes, went down when it oughtto have given offence. May ought to have been offended. She didn't lookoffended!
"You forget," said Boreham, looking through his eyeglass at Bingham andfrowning, "that Mrs. Dashwood is, what is called a Churchwoman."
"I'm a Churchman myself," said the imperturbable Don. "To me a church isalways first a sanctuary, as I have just remarked to Mrs. Dashwood.Secondly, it is the artistic triumph of some blooming engineer. Nowadaysour church architects aren't engineers; they don't _create_ a building,they just run it up from books. Our modern churches are failures notbecause we aren't religious, but because our architects are not bigenough men to be great engineers."
"Ah, yes," said May, looking up with relief at Bingham's swarthyfeatures.
"I deny that we are religious, as a whole," said Boreham, stoutly.
"You may not be, my dear fellow," said Bingham, in his oily voice; "butthen you are the only genuine conservative I meet nowadays. You arestill faithful to the 'Eighties'--still impressed by the discovery thatreligion don't drop out of the sky as we thought it did, but had itsorigin in the funk and cunning of the humanoid ape."
May was standing between the two men, and all three had their backs tothe cathedral, just as if they had emerged from its doors. And it was atthis moment that she caught a sudden sight through the open archway oftwo figures passing along the terrace outside; one figure she did notknow, but which she thought might be the Dean of Christ Church, and theother figure was one which was becoming to her more significant than anyother in the world. He saw her; he raised his hat, and was already gonebefore she had time to think. When she did think it came upon her, witha rush of remorse, that he must have thought that she had been lookingover the cathedral with her two companions, after having refused hisguidance on the pretext that she wished to be alone. Yes, there was inhis face surely surprise, surprise and reproach! How could she explain?He had gone! She vaguely heard the two men beside her speaking; sheheard Boreham's protesting voice but did not follow his words.
"While we are engaged in peaceful persuasion," said Bingham in her ear,"you are white with fatigue."
"I'm not tired," she said, "not really--only I
think I will go to therooms where Lady Dashwood is to meet me. Will you show me them?"
She spoke to Bingham, and touched his arm with her hand as if to ask forhis support.
Boreham saw that he was excluded. It was obvious, and he stood staringafter them, full of indignation.
"I shall see you later," he said in a dry voice. How did it all happen?
As soon as they were on the terrace, May released Bingham's arm.
"You want to get a rest before you go to the Hardings," he said. Then headded, in a voice that threw out the words merely as a remark whichdemanded no answer, "Was it physical--or--moral or both? Umph!" he wenton. "Now, we have only a step to make. It's the third doorway!"
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