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But the former, however sympathetically treated, are certainly not idealised; and among the latter, the only real creation, in my opinion, is Susan Ponderevo in Tono-Bungay; although there is a possible composite of various women in the later books that may represent the general insurgent character of recent young womanhood.
So we don't adolescence; we blunder up to sex. Dare dare to look and he may dirt you for ever! The girls are terror-stricken to silence by his significant whiskers, by the bleary something in his eyes." Suddenly Ewart, with an almost Jack-in-the-box effect, sat up. "He's about us everywhere, Ponderevo," he said, very solemnly. "Sometimes sometimes I think he is in our blood. In MINE."
"Hope you don't mind us coming this way, Ponderevo," he cried; and my uncle, who was sometimes a little too general and generous with titles, answered, "Not at all, my lord, not at all! Glad you make use of it!" "You're building a great place over the hill," said Carnaby. "Thought I'd make a show for once," said my uncle. "It looks big because it's spread out for the sun."
I seem to remember Ewart with a cushion forward, only his heels and sunshade and some black ends of hair showing, a voice and no more, against the shining, smoothly-streaming mirror of the trees and bushes. "It's not worth it," was the burthen of the voice. "You'd better get yourself a Millie, Ponderevo, and then you wouldn't feel so upset." "No," I said decidedly, "that's not my way."
"Then you get old Grundy in another mood. Ever caught him nosing, Ponderevo? Mad with the idea of mysterious, unknown, wicked, delicious things. Things that aren't respectable. Wow! Things he mustn't do!... Any one who knows about these things, knows there's just as much mystery and deliciousness about Grundy's forbidden things as there is about eating ham.
The enormous success and rapid failure of this futile, ambitious little chemist a success that is, unhappily, only too conceivable and probable are seen against the background of his nephew's life, Mr Wells has given a greater value and credulity to the legal criminalities of Ponderevo, by coming at him, as it were, through a wider angle; just as he achieves all the circumstances of reality in his romances by his postulation of an average eye-witness.
Wells' language, is called the Bladesover System, Bladesover being the house where "I," George Ponderevo, the housekeeper's son one of the many incarnations of the author himself was born, brought up, and acquired his first impressions of life.
When I was thus banished from Bladesover House, as it was then thought for good and all, I was sent by my mother in a vindictive spirit, first to her cousin Nicodemus Frapp, and then, as a fully indentured apprentice, to my uncle Ponderevo. I ran away from the care of my cousin Nicodemus back to Bladesover House.
And we stood high out of it all, as high as if we looked godlike from another world, standing in a room beautifully lit and furnished, skillfully warmed, filled with costly things. "There," thought I, "but for the grace of God, go George and Edward Ponderevo."
The stuffy little room was crowded when I reached it, and lit by three flickering candles. I felt I was back in the eighteenth century. There lay my poor uncle amidst indescribably tumbled bedclothes, weary of life beyond measure, weary and rambling, and the little clergyman trying to hold his hand and his attention, and repeating over and over again: "Mr. Ponderevo, Mr.
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