A Room with a View

  Chapter XIV: How Lucy Faced the External Situation Bravely

  Of course Miss Bartlett accepted. And, equally of course, she felt surethat she would prove a nuisance, and begged to be given an inferiorspare room--something with no view, anything. Her love to Lucy. And,equally of course, George Emerson could come to tennis on the Sundayweek.

  Lucy faced the situation bravely, though, like most of us, she onlyfaced the situation that encompassed her. She never gazed inwards. If attimes strange images rose from the depths, she put them down to nerves.When Cecil brought the Emersons to Summer Street, it had upset hernerves. Charlotte would burnish up past foolishness, and this mightupset her nerves. She was nervous at night. When she talked toGeorge--they met again almost immediately at the Rectory--his voicemoved her deeply, and she wished to remain near him. How dreadful if shereally wished to remain near him! Of course, the wish was due to nerves,which love to play such perverse tricks upon us. Once she had sufferedfrom "things that came out of nothing and meant she didn't know what."Now Cecil had explained psychology to her one wet afternoon, and all thetroubles of youth in an unknown world could be dismissed.

  It is obvious enough for the reader to conclude, "She loves youngEmerson." A reader in Lucy's place would not find it obvious. Life iseasy to chronicle, but bewildering to practice, and we welcome "nerves"or any other shibboleth that will cloak our personal desire. She lovedCecil; George made her nervous; will the reader explain to her that thephrases should have been reversed?

  But the external situation--she will face that bravely.

  The meeting at the Rectory had passed off well enough. Standing betweenMr. Beebe and Cecil, she had made a few temperate allusions to Italy,and George had replied. She was anxious to show that she was not shy,and was glad that he did not seem shy either.

  "A nice fellow," said Mr. Beebe afterwards "He will work off hiscrudities in time. I rather mistrust young men who slip into lifegracefully."

  Lucy said, "He seems in better spirits. He laughs more."

  "Yes," replied the clergyman. "He is waking up."

  That was all. But, as the week wore on, more of her defences fell,and she entertained an image that had physical beauty. In spite of theclearest directions, Miss Bartlett contrived to bungle her arrival.She was due at the South-Eastern station at Dorking, whither Mrs.Honeychurch drove to meet her. She arrived at the London and Brightonstation, and had to hire a cab up. No one was at home except Freddyand his friend, who had to stop their tennis and to entertain her fora solid hour. Cecil and Lucy turned up at four o'clock, and these, withlittle Minnie Beebe, made a somewhat lugubrious sextette upon the upperlawn for tea.

  "I shall never forgive myself," said Miss Bartlett, who kept on risingfrom her seat, and had to be begged by the united company to remain."I have upset everything. Bursting in on young people! But I insist onpaying for my cab up. Grant that, at any rate."

  "Our visitors never do such dreadful things," said Lucy, while herbrother, in whose memory the boiled egg had already grown unsubstantial,exclaimed in irritable tones: "Just what I've been trying to convinceCousin Charlotte of, Lucy, for the last half hour."

  "I do not feel myself an ordinary visitor," said Miss Bartlett, andlooked at her frayed glove.

  "All right, if you'd really rather. Five shillings, and I gave a bob tothe driver."

  Miss Bartlett looked in her purse. Only sovereigns and pennies. Couldany one give her change? Freddy had half a quid and his friend had fourhalf-crowns. Miss Bartlett accepted their moneys and then said: "But whoam I to give the sovereign to?"

  "Let's leave it all till mother comes back," suggested Lucy.

  "No, dear; your mother may take quite a long drive now that she is nothampered with me. We all have our little foibles, and mine is the promptsettling of accounts."

  Here Freddy's friend, Mr. Floyd, made the one remark of his that need bequoted: he offered to toss Freddy for Miss Bartlett's quid. A solutionseemed in sight, and even Cecil, who had been ostentatiously drinkinghis tea at the view, felt the eternal attraction of Chance, and turnedround.

  But this did not do, either.

  "Please--please--I know I am a sad spoil-sport, but it would make mewretched. I should practically be robbing the one who lost."

  "Freddy owes me fifteen shillings," interposed Cecil. "So it will workout right if you give the pound to me."

  "Fifteen shillings," said Miss Bartlett dubiously. "How is that, Mr.Vyse?"

  "Because, don't you see, Freddy paid your cab. Give me the pound, and weshall avoid this deplorable gambling."

  Miss Bartlett, who was poor at figures, became bewildered and renderedup the sovereign, amidst the suppressed gurgles of the other youths. Fora moment Cecil was happy. He was playing at nonsense among his peers.Then he glanced at Lucy, in whose face petty anxieties had marred thesmiles. In January he would rescue his Leonardo from this stupefyingtwaddle.

  "But I don't see that!" exclaimed Minnie Beebe who had narrowly watchedthe iniquitous transaction. "I don't see why Mr. Vyse is to have thequid."

  "Because of the fifteen shillings and the five," they said solemnly."Fifteen shillings and five shillings make one pound, you see."

  "But I don't see--"

  They tried to stifle her with cake.

  "No, thank you. I'm done. I don't see why--Freddy, don't poke me. MissHoneychurch, your brother's hurting me. Ow! What about Mr. Floyd'sten shillings? Ow! No, I don't see and I never shall see why MissWhat's-her-name shouldn't pay that bob for the driver."

  "I had forgotten the driver," said Miss Bartlett, reddening. "Thank you,dear, for reminding me. A shilling was it? Can any one give me changefor half a crown?"

  "I'll get it," said the young hostess, rising with decision.

  "Cecil, give me that sovereign. No, give me up that sovereign. I'll getEuphemia to change it, and we'll start the whole thing again from thebeginning."

  "Lucy--Lucy--what a nuisance I am!" protested Miss Bartlett, andfollowed her across the lawn. Lucy tripped ahead, simulating hilarity.When they were out of earshot Miss Bartlett stopped her wails and saidquite briskly: "Have you told him about him yet?"

  "No, I haven't," replied Lucy, and then could have bitten her tonguefor understanding so quickly what her cousin meant. "Let me see--asovereign's worth of silver."

  She escaped into the kitchen. Miss Bartlett's sudden transitions weretoo uncanny. It sometimes seemed as if she planned every word she spokeor caused to be spoken; as if all this worry about cabs and change hadbeen a ruse to surprise the soul.

  "No, I haven't told Cecil or any one," she remarked, when she returned."I promised you I shouldn't. Here is your money--all shillings, excepttwo half-crowns. Would you count it? You can settle your debt nicelynow."

  Miss Bartlett was in the drawing-room, gazing at the photograph of St.John ascending, which had been framed.

  "How dreadful!" she murmured, "how more than dreadful, if Mr. Vyseshould come to hear of it from some other source."

  "Oh, no, Charlotte," said the girl, entering the battle. "George Emersonis all right, and what other source is there?"

  Miss Bartlett considered. "For instance, the driver. I saw him lookingthrough the bushes at you, remember he had a violet between his teeth."

  Lucy shuddered a little. "We shall get the silly affair on our nervesif we aren't careful. How could a Florentine cab-driver ever get hold ofCecil?"

  "We must think of every possibility."

  "Oh, it's all right."

  "Or perhaps old Mr. Emerson knows. In fact, he is certain to know."

  "I don't care if he does. I was grateful to you for your letter, buteven if the news does get round, I think I can trust Cecil to laugh atit."

  "To contradict it?"

  "No, to laugh at it." But she knew in her heart that she could not trusthim, for he desired her untouched.

  "Very well, dear, you know best. Perhaps gentlemen are different to whatthey were when I was young. Ladies are certainly different."

  "No
w, Charlotte!" She struck at her playfully. "You kind, anxious thing.What WOULD you have me do? First you say 'Don't tell'; and then you say,'Tell'. Which is it to be? Quick!"

  Miss Bartlett sighed "I am no match for you in conversation, dearest. Iblush when I think how I interfered at Florence, and you so well ableto look after yourself, and so much cleverer in all ways than I am. Youwill never forgive me."

  "Shall we go out, then. They will smash all the china if we don't."

  For the air rang with the shrieks of Minnie, who was being scalped witha teaspoon.

  "Dear, one moment--we may not have this chance for a chat again. Haveyou seen the young one yet?"

  "Yes, I have."

  "What happened?"

  "We met at the Rectory."

  "What line is he taking up?"

  "No line. He talked about Italy, like any other person. It is really allright. What advantage would he get from being a cad, to put it bluntly?I do wish I could make you see it my way. He really won't be anynuisance, Charlotte."

  "Once a cad, always a cad. That is my poor opinion."

  Lucy paused. "Cecil said one day--and I thought it so profound--thatthere are two kinds of cads--the conscious and the subconscious." Shepaused again, to be sure of doing justice to Cecil's profundity. Throughthe window she saw Cecil himself, turning over the pages of a novel. Itwas a new one from Smith's library. Her mother must have returned fromthe station.

  "Once a cad, always a cad," droned Miss Bartlett.

  "What I mean by subconscious is that Emerson lost his head. I fell intoall those violets, and he was silly and surprised. I don't think weought to blame him very much. It makes such a difference when you see aperson with beautiful things behind him unexpectedly. It really does;it makes an enormous difference, and he lost his head: he doesn't admireme, or any of that nonsense, one straw. Freddy rather likes him, andhas asked him up here on Sunday, so you can judge for yourself. He hasimproved; he doesn't always look as if he's going to burst intotears. He is a clerk in the General Manager's office at one of the bigrailways--not a porter! and runs down to his father for week-ends. Papawas to do with journalism, but is rheumatic and has retired. There!Now for the garden." She took hold of her guest by the arm. "Suppose wedon't talk about this silly Italian business any more. We want you tohave a nice restful visit at Windy Corner, with no worriting."

  Lucy thought this rather a good speech. The reader may have detectedan unfortunate slip in it. Whether Miss Bartlett detected the slip onecannot say, for it is impossible to penetrate into the minds of elderlypeople. She might have spoken further, but they were interrupted by theentrance of her hostess. Explanations took place, and in the midst ofthem Lucy escaped, the images throbbing a little more vividly in herbrain.