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Updated: June 24, 2025
For weeks I had blamed Mr. Wilcox only, and so, when your letters came " "I need never have written them," sighed Margaret. "They never shielded Henry. How hopeless it is to tidy away the past, even for others!" "I did not know that it was your own idea to dismiss the Basts." "Looking back, that was wrong of me." "Looking back, darling, I know that it was right.
Yes or no!" he thundered, so that Tibby started. "In my rooms she mentioned some friends, called the Basts." "Who are the Basts?" "People friends of hers at Evie's wedding." "I don't remember. But, by great Scott, I do! My aunt told me about some rag-tsag. Was she full of them when you saw her? Is there a man? Did she speak of the man? Or look here have you had any dealings with him?"
"What is it?" she called. "Oh, what's wrong? Is Tibby ill?" Helen spoke to her two companions, who fell back. Then she bore forward furiously. "They're starving!" she shouted. "I found them starving!" "Who? Why have you come?" "The Basts." "Oh, Helen!" moaned Margaret. "Whatever have you done now?" "He has lost his place. He has been turned out of his bank. Yes, he's done for.
He did not rely upon the sandwich for lunch, but liked to have it by him in case he grew hungry at eleven. When he had gone, there was the house to look after, and the servants to humanize, and several kettles of Helen's to keep on the boil. Her conscience pricked her a little about the Basts; she was not sorry to have lost sight of them.
They are scientific themselves, and talk of the survival of the fittest, and cut down the salaries of their clerks, and stunt the independence of all who may menace their comfort, but yet they believe that somehow good it is always that sloppy 'somehow' will be the outcome, and that in some mystical way the Mr. Basts of the future will benefit because the Mr. Brits of today are in pain."
He was afraid at first of his wife, though later he was to regard her with a strange new tenderness, and to think, "There is nothing to choose between us, after all." The expedition to Shropshire crippled the Basts permanently.
Allow me to congratulate you on the success of your plan." "This is Helen's plan, not mine." "I now understand your interest in the Basts. Very well thought out. I am amused at your caution, Margaret. You are quite right it was necessary. I am a man, and have lived a man's past. I have the honour to release you from your engagement." Still she could not understand.
He had never been interested in human beings, for which one must blame him, but he had had rather too much of them at Wickham Place. Just as some people cease to attend when books are mentioned, so Tibby's attention wandered when "personal relations" came under discussion. Ought Margaret to know what Helen knew the Basts to know?
"I have asked Helen to sleep," she said. "She is best here; so don't lock the front-door." "I thought someone had got in," said Henry. "At the same time I told the man that we could do nothing for him. I don't know about later, but now the Basts must clearly go." "Did you say that your sister is sleeping here, after all?" "Probably." "Is she to be shown up to your room?"
Henry would save the Basts as he had saved Howards End, while Helen and her friends were discussing the ethics of salvation. His was a slap-dash method, but the world has been built slap-dash, and the beauty of mountain and river and sunset may be but the varnish with which the unskilled artificer hides his joins. Oniton, like herself, was imperfect.
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