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Her mother shook her head when she saw her in her short white skirt and white jersey, slashing at nothing with her racquet, ready. Mamma didn't like the Sutcliffes. She said they hadn't been nice to poor Papa. They had never asked him again. You could see she thought you a beast to like them. "But, Mamma darling, I can't help liking them."
His eyes were fixed, fixed on the white, slender arm that lay across his wife's lap. And Mrs. Sutcliffe's eyes were fixed on the queer, strained face. Uncle Victor's letter was almost a relief. She had not yet allowed herself to imagine what Morfe would be like without the Sutcliffes. And, after all, they wouldn't have to live in it.
She would stay there with the Sutcliffes, for weeks and weeks, in the pink and white house on the terrace. Perhaps they would go on into Italy. Mr. Sutcliffe was going to send to Cook's for the tickets to-morrow. Expensive, well-fitting clothes had come from Durlingham, so that nothing could prevent it happening. Mr. Sutcliffe was paying for her ticket. Uncle Victor had paid for the clothes.
She stitched and stitched, making new underclothing. It was going to happen. Summer and Christmas and the New Year had gone. In another week it would happen. She would be sitting with the Sutcliffes in the Paris-Lyons-Mediterranee express, going with them to Agaye. She had to have new underclothing. They would be two days in Paris.
Nothing ever would happen. At twenty-one and a half you were old too, and very wise. You had given up expecting things to happen. You put 1883 on your letters to Mark and Dan and Roddy, instead of 1882. Then 1884. You measured time by the poems you wrote and by the books you read and by the Sutcliffes' going abroad in January and coming back in March.
But I can stop that.... If Richard's mind and will can make her die, my mind and will can keep her from dying.... There was something I did before. That time I wanted to go away with the Sutcliffes. When Roddy was coming home. Something happened then.... If it happened then it can happen now. If I could remember how you do it. Flat on your back with your eyes shut; not tight shut.
But she's angry with the Sutcliffes." "Why?" "Because they've seen him." "How many Sutcliffes are there?" "Only him and Mrs. Sutcliffe. The son's in India. "They'll never ask him again, and Mamma won't go without him. She says we can go if we like, but you can see she'll think us skunks if we do." "Well then we can't."
Waugh, and Miss Frewin in the drawing-room with Mamma. They had brought her the news. The Sutcliffes were going. They were trying to let Greffington Hall. The agent, Mr. Oldshaw, had told Mr. Horn. Mr. Frank, the Major, would be back from India in April. He was going to be married. He would live in the London house and Mr. and Mrs. Sutcliffe would live abroad.
She was beaten. "I don't want to make it hard for you at all." "Then promise me you won't talk about religion." "I won't talk about it to Mrs. Waugh." "Not to anybody." "Not to anybody who wouldn't like it. Unless they make me. Will that do?" "I suppose it'll have to." Mamma held her face up, like a child, to be kissed. The Sutcliffes' house hid in the thick trees at the foot of Greffington Edge.
She would have to get away somewhere, to Dorsy or the Sutcliffes. She didn't want to see him again. She wanted to forget that she ever had seen him. Her mother and Dan had shut themselves up in the smoking-room; she found them there, talking. As she came in they stopped abruptly and looked at each other. Her mother began picking at the pleats in her gown with nervous, agitated fingers.
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