ᐸ?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?ᐳ ᐸsamples n="ENG19100"ᐳ ᐸsampleᐳᐸp n="ENG191001946"ᐳ"I'm sure I don't want to intrude," began Leonard, in answer to Margaret's question. "But you have been so kind to me in the past in warning me about the Porphyrion that I wondered—why, I wondered whether—"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001947"ᐳ"Whether we could get him back into the Porphyrion again," supplied Helen. "Meg, this has been a cheerful business. A bright evening's work that was on Chelsea Embankment."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001948"ᐳMargaret shook her head and returned to Mr. Bast.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001949"ᐳ"I don't understand. You left the Porphyrion because we suggested it was a bad concern, didn't you?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001950"ᐳ"That's right."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001951"ᐳ"And went into a bank instead?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001952"ᐳ"I told you all that," said Helen; "and they reduced their staff after he had been in a month, and now he's penniless, and I consider that we and our informant are directly to blame."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001953"ᐳ"I hate all this," Leonard muttered.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001954"ᐳ"I hope you do, Mr. Bast. But it's no good mincing matters. You have done yourself no good by coming here. If you intend to confront Mr. Wilcox, and to call him to account for a chance remark, you will make a very great mistake."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001955"ᐳ"I brought them. I did it all," cried Helen.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001956"ᐳ"I can only advise you to go at once. My sister has put you in a false position, and it is kindest to tell you so. It's too late to get to town, but you'll find a comfortable hotel in Oniton, where Mrs. Bast can rest, and I hope you'll be my guests there."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001957"ᐳ"That isn't what I want, Miss Schlegel," said Leonard. "You're very kind, and no doubt it's a false position, but you make me miserable. I seem no good at all."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001958"ᐳ"It's work he wants," interpreted Helen. "Can't you see?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001959"ᐳThen he said: "Jacky, let's go. We're more bother than we're worth. We're costing these ladies pounds and pounds already to get work for us, and they never will. There's nothing we're good enough to do."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001960"ᐳ"We would like to find you work," said Margaret rather conventionally. "We want to—I, like my sister. You're only down in your luck. Go to the hotel, have a good night's rest, and some day you shall pay me back the bill, if you prefer it."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001961"ᐳBut Leonard was near the abyss, and at such moments men see clearly. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I shall never get work now. If rich people fail at one profession, they can try another. Not I. I had my groove, and I've got out of it. I could do one particular branch of insurance in one particular office well enough to command a salary, but that's all. Poetry's nothing, Miss Schlegel. One's thoughts about this and that are nothing. Your money, too, is nothing, if you'll understand me. I mean if a man over twenty once loses his own particular job, it's all over with him. I have seen it happen to others. Their friends gave them money for a little, but in the end they fall over the edge. It's no good. It's the whole world pulling. There always will be rich and poor."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸ/sampleᐳ ᐸsampleᐳᐸp n="ENG19100560"ᐳ"Indeed!"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100561"ᐳ"We took the flat chiefly on that account, and also that Paul could get his African outfit. The flat belongs to a cousin of my husband's, and she most kindly offered it to us. So before the day came we were able to make the acquaintance of Dolly's people, which we had not yet done."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100562"ᐳMargaret asked who Dolly's people were.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100563"ᐳ"Fussell. The father is in the Indian army—retired; the brother is in the army. The mother is dead."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100564"ᐳSo perhaps these were the "chinless sunburnt men" whom Helen had espied one afternoon through the window. Margaret felt mildly interested in the fortunes of the Wilcox family. She had acquired the habit on Helen's account, and it still clung to her. She asked for more information about Miss Dolly Fussell that was, and was given it in even, unemotional tones. Mrs. Wilcox's voice, though sweet and compelling, had little range of expression. It suggested that pictures, concerts, and people are all of small and equal value. Only once had it quickened—when speaking of Howards End.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100565"ᐳ"Charles and Albert Fussell have known one another some time. They belong to the same club, and are both devoted to golf. Dolly plays golf too, though I believe not so well, and they first met in a mixed foursome. We all like her, and are very much pleased. They were married on the 11th, a few days before Paul sailed. Charles was very anxious to have his brother as best man, so he made a great point of having it on the 11th. The Fussells would have preferred it after Christmas, but they were very nice about it. There is Dolly's photograph—in that double frame."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100566"ᐳ"Are you quite certain that I'm not interrupting, Mrs. Wilcox?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100567"ᐳ"Yes, quite."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100568"ᐳ"Then I will stay. I'm enjoying this."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100569"ᐳDolly's photograph was now examined. It was signed "For dear Mims," which Mrs. Wilcox interpreted as "the name she and Charles had settled that she should call me." Dolly looked silly, and had one of those triangular faces that so often prove attractive to a robust man. She was very pretty. From her Margaret passed to Charles, whose features prevailed opposite. She speculated on the forces that had drawn the two together till God parted them. She found time to hope that they would be happy.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100570"ᐳ"They have gone to Naples for their honeymoon."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100571"ᐳ"Lucky people!"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG19100572"ᐳ"I can hardly imagine Charles in Italy."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸ/sampleᐳ ᐸsampleᐳᐸp n="ENG191001459"ᐳ"Yes, that is so," conceded Frieda; and another international incident was closed.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001460"ᐳ"'Bournemouth is,'" resumed their hostess, quoting a local rhyme to which she was much attached—" 'Bournemouth is, Poole was, and Swanage is to be the most important town of all and biggest of the three.' Now, Frau Liesecke, I have shown you Bournemouth, and I have shown you Poole, so let us walk backward a little, and look down again at Swanage."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001461"ᐳ"Aunt Juley, wouldn't that be Meg's train?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001462"ᐳA tiny puff of smoke had been circling the harbour, and now was bearing southwards towards them over the black and the gold.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001463"ᐳ"Oh, dearest Margaret, I do hope she won't be overtired."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001464"ᐳ"Oh, I do wonder—I do wonder whether she's taken the house."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001465"ᐳ"I hope she hasn't been hasty."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001466"ᐳ"So do I—oh, so do I."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001467"ᐳ"Will it be as beautiful as Wickham Place?" Frieda asked.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001468"ᐳ"I should think it would. Trust Mr. Wilcox for doing himself proud. All those Ducie Street houses are beautiful in their modern way, and I can't think why he doesn't keep on with it. But it's really for Evie that he went there, and now that Evie's going to be married—"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001469"ᐳ"Ah!"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001470"ᐳ"You've never seen Miss Wilcox, Frieda. How absurdly matrimonial you are!"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001471"ᐳ"But sister to that Paul?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001472"ᐳ"Yes."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001473"ᐳ"And to that Charles," said Mrs. Munt with feeling. "Oh, Helen, Helen, what a time that was!"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001474"ᐳHelen laughed. "Meg and I haven't got such tender hearts. If there's a chance of a cheap house, we go for it."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001475"ᐳ"Now look, Frau Liesecke, at my niece's train. You see, it is coming towards us—coming, coming; and, when it gets to Corfe, it will actually go through the downs, on which we are standing, so that, if we walk over, as I suggested, and look down on Swanage, we shall see it coming on the other side. Shall we?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001476"ᐳFrieda assented, and in a few minutes they had crossed the ridge and exchanged the greater view for the lesser. Rather a dull valley lay below, backed by the slope of the coastward downs. They were looking across the Isle of Purbeck and on to Swanage, soon to be the most important town of all, and ugliest of the three. Margaret's train reappeared as promised, and was greeted with approval by her aunt. It came to a standstill in the middle distance, and there it had been planned that Tibby should meet her, and drive her, and a tea-basket, up to join them.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸ/sampleᐳ ᐸsampleᐳᐸp n="ENG191002049"ᐳ"Ten years ago."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002050"ᐳShe left him without a word. For it was not her tragedy: it was Mrs. Wilcox's.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002051"ᐳHelen began to wonder why she had spent a matter of eight pounds in making some people ill and others angry. Now that the wave of excitement was ebbing, and had left her, Mr. Bast, and Mrs. Bast stranded for the night in a Shropshire hotel, she asked herself what forces had made the wave flow. At all events, no harm was done. Margaret would play the game properly now, and though Helen disapproved of her sister's methods, she knew that the Basts would benefit by them in the long run.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002052"ᐳ"Mr. Wilcox is so illogical," she explained to Leonard, who had put his wife to bed, and was sitting with her in the empty coffee-room. "If we told him it was his duty to take you on, he might refuse to do it. The fact is, he isn't properly educated. I don't want to set you against him, but you'll find him a trial."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002053"ᐳ"I can never thank you sufficiently, Miss Schlegel," was all that Leonard felt equal to.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002054"ᐳ"I believe in personal responsibility. Don't you? And in personal everything. I hate—I suppose I oughtn't to say that—but the Wilcoxes are on the wrong tack surely. Or perhaps it isn't their fault. Perhaps the little thing that says 'I' is missing out of the middle of their heads, and then it's a waste of time to blame them. There's a nightmare of a theory that says a special race is being born which will rule the rest of us in the future just because it lacks the little thing that says 'I.' Had you heard that?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002055"ᐳ"I get no time for reading."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002056"ᐳ"Had you thought it, then? That there are two kinds of people—our kind, who live straight from the middle of their heads, and the other kind who can't, because their heads have no middle? They can't say 'I.' They aren't in fact, and so they're supermen. Pierpont Morgan has never said 'I' in his life."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002057"ᐳLeonard roused himself. If his benefactress wanted intellectual conversation, she must have it. She was more important than his ruined past. "I never got on to Nietzsche," he said. "But I always understood that those supermen were rather what you may call egoists."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191002058"ᐳ"Oh, no, that's wrong," replied Helen. "No superman ever said 'I want,' because 'I want' must lead to the question, 'Who am I?' and so to Pity and to Justice. He only says 'want.' 'Want Europe,' if he's Napoleon; 'want wives,' if he's Bluebeard; 'want Botticelli,' if he's Pierpont Morgan. Never the 'I'; and if you could pierce through him, you'd find panic and emptiness in the middle."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸ/sampleᐳ ᐸsampleᐳᐸp n="ENG191001187"ᐳ"I don't want your patronage. I don't want your tea. I was quite happy. What do you want to unsettle me for?" He turned to Mr. Wilcox. "I put it to this gentleman. I ask you, sir, am to have my brain picked?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001188"ᐳMr. Wilcox turned to Margaret with the air of humorous strength that he could so well command. "Are we intruding, Miss Schlegel? Can we be of any use or shall we go?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001189"ᐳBut Margaret ignored him.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001190"ᐳ"I'm connected with a leading insurance company, sir. I receive what I take to be an invitation from these—ladies" (he drawled the word). "I come, and it's to have my brain picked. I ask you, is it fair?"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001191"ᐳ"Highly unfair," said Mr. Wilcox, drawing a gasp from Evie, who knew that her father was becoming dangerous.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001192"ᐳ"There, you hear that? Most unfair, the gentleman says. There! Not content with"—pointing at Margaret—"you can't deny it." His voice rose: he was falling into the rhythm of a scene with Jacky. "But as soon as I'm useful it's a very different thing. 'Oh yes, send for him. Cross-question him. Pick his brains.' Oh yes. Now, take me on the whole, I'm a quiet fellow: I'm law-abiding, I don't wish any unpleasantness; but I—I—"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001193"ᐳ"You," said Margaret—"you—you—"ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001194"ᐳLaughter from Evie, as at a repartee.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001195"ᐳ"You are the man who tried to walk by the Pole Star."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001196"ᐳMore laughter.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001197"ᐳ"You saw the sunrise."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001198"ᐳLaughter.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001199"ᐳ"You tried to get away from the fogs that are stifling us all—away past books and houses to the truth. You were looking for a real home. "ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001200"ᐳ"I fail to see the connection," said Leonard, hot with stupid anger.ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸp n="ENG191001201"ᐳ"So do I." There was a pause. "You were that last Sunday—you are this today. Mr. Bast! I and my sister have talked you over. We wanted to help you; we also supposed you might help us. We did not have you here out of charity—which bores us—but because we hoped there would be a connection between last Sunday and other days. What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives? They have never entered into mine, but into yours, we thought—Haven't we all to struggle against life's daily greyness, against pettiness, against mechanical cheerfulness, against suspicion? I struggle by remembering my friends; others I have known by remembering some place—some beloved place or tree—we thought you one of these."ᐸ/pᐳ ᐸ/sampleᐳᐸ/samplesᐳ