A Room with a View

  Chapter XVIII: Lying to Mr. Beebe, Mrs. Honeychurch, Freddy, and TheServants

  Windy Corner lay, not on the summit of the ridge, but a few hundred feetdown the southern slope, at the springing of one of the great buttressesthat supported the hill. On either side of it was a shallow ravine,filled with ferns and pine-trees, and down the ravine on the left ranthe highway into the Weald.

  Whenever Mr. Beebe crossed the ridge and caught sight of these nobledispositions of the earth, and, poised in the middle of them, WindyCorner,--he laughed. The situation was so glorious, the house socommonplace, not to say impertinent. The late Mr. Honeychurch hadaffected the cube, because it gave him the most accommodation for hismoney, and the only addition made by his widow had been a small turret,shaped like a rhinoceros' horn, where she could sit in wet weather andwatch the carts going up and down the road. So impertinent--and yet thehouse "did," for it was the home of people who loved their surroundingshonestly. Other houses in the neighborhood had been built by expensivearchitects, over others their inmates had fidgeted sedulously, yet allthese suggested the accidental, the temporary; while Windy Corner seemedas inevitable as an ugliness of Nature's own creation. One might laughat the house, but one never shuddered. Mr. Beebe was bicycling overthis Monday afternoon with a piece of gossip. He had heard from the MissAlans. These admirable ladies, since they could not go to Cissie Villa,had changed their plans. They were going to Greece instead.

  "Since Florence did my poor sister so much good," wrote Miss Catharine,"we do not see why we should not try Athens this winter. Of course,Athens is a plunge, and the doctor has ordered her special digestivebread; but, after all, we can take that with us, and it is only gettingfirst into a steamer and then into a train. But is there an EnglishChurch?" And the letter went on to say: "I do not expect we shall go anyfurther than Athens, but if you knew of a really comfortable pension atConstantinople, we should be so grateful."

  Lucy would enjoy this letter, and the smile with which Mr. Beebe greetedWindy Corner was partly for her. She would see the fun of it, and someof its beauty, for she must see some beauty. Though she was hopelessabout pictures, and though she dressed so unevenly--oh, that cerisefrock yesterday at church!--she must see some beauty in life, or shecould not play the piano as she did. He had a theory that musicians areincredibly complex, and know far less than other artists what they wantand what they are; that they puzzle themselves as well as their friends;that their psychology is a modern development, and has not yet beenunderstood. This theory, had he known it, had possibly just beenillustrated by facts. Ignorant of the events of yesterday he was onlyriding over to get some tea, to see his niece, and to observe whetherMiss Honeychurch saw anything beautiful in the desire of two old ladiesto visit Athens.

  A carriage was drawn up outside Windy Corner, and just as he caughtsight of the house it started, bowled up the drive, and stopped abruptlywhen it reached the main road. Therefore it must be the horse, whoalways expected people to walk up the hill in case they tired him. Thedoor opened obediently, and two men emerged, whom Mr. Beebe recognizedas Cecil and Freddy. They were an odd couple to go driving; but he sawa trunk beside the coachman's legs. Cecil, who wore a bowler, must begoing away, while Freddy (a cap)--was seeing him to the station. Theywalked rapidly, taking the short cuts, and reached the summit while thecarriage was still pursuing the windings of the road.

  They shook hands with the clergyman, but did not speak.

  "So you're off for a minute, Mr. Vyse?" he asked.

  Cecil said, "Yes," while Freddy edged away.

  "I was coming to show you this delightful letter from those friendsof Miss Honeychurch." He quoted from it. "Isn't it wonderful? Isn't itromance? Most certainly they will go to Constantinople. They are takenin a snare that cannot fail. They will end by going round the world."

  Cecil listened civilly, and said he was sure that Lucy would be amusedand interested.

  "Isn't Romance capricious! I never notice it in you young people; youdo nothing but play lawn tennis, and say that romance is dead, while theMiss Alans are struggling with all the weapons of propriety against theterrible thing. 'A really comfortable pension at Constantinople!' Sothey call it out of decency, but in their hearts they want a pensionwith magic windows opening on the foam of perilous seas in fairylandforlorn! No ordinary view will content the Miss Alans. They want thePension Keats."

  "I'm awfully sorry to interrupt, Mr. Beebe," said Freddy, "but have youany matches?"

  "I have," said Cecil, and it did not escape Mr. Beebe's notice that hespoke to the boy more kindly.

  "You have never met these Miss Alans, have you, Mr. Vyse?"

  "Never."

  "Then you don't see the wonder of this Greek visit. I haven't beento Greece myself, and don't mean to go, and I can't imagine any of myfriends going. It is altogether too big for our little lot. Don't youthink so? Italy is just about as much as we can manage. Italy is heroic,but Greece is godlike or devilish--I am not sure which, and in eithercase absolutely out of our suburban focus. All right, Freddy--I amnot being clever, upon my word I am not--I took the idea from anotherfellow; and give me those matches when you've done with them." He lit acigarette, and went on talking to the two young men. "I was saying, ifour poor little Cockney lives must have a background, let it be Italian.Big enough in all conscience. The ceiling of the Sistine Chapel forme. There the contrast is just as much as I can realize. But not theParthenon, not the frieze of Phidias at any price; and here comes thevictoria."

  "You're quite right," said Cecil. "Greece is not for our little lot";and he got in. Freddy followed, nodding to the clergyman, whom hetrusted not to be pulling one's leg, really. And before they had gone adozen yards he jumped out, and came running back for Vyse's match-box,which had not been returned. As he took it, he said: "I'm so glad youonly talked about books. Cecil's hard hit. Lucy won't marry him. Ifyou'd gone on about her, as you did about them, he might have brokendown."

  "But when--"

  "Late last night. I must go."

  "Perhaps they won't want me down there."

  "No--go on. Good-bye."

  "Thank goodness!" exclaimed Mr. Beebe to himself, and struck the saddleof his bicycle approvingly, "It was the one foolish thing she everdid. Oh, what a glorious riddance!" And, after a little thought, henegotiated the slope into Windy Corner, light of heart. The house wasagain as it ought to be--cut off forever from Cecil's pretentious world.

  He would find Miss Minnie down in the garden.

  In the drawing-room Lucy was tinkling at a Mozart Sonata. He hesitated amoment, but went down the garden as requested. There he found a mournfulcompany. It was a blustering day, and the wind had taken and broken thedahlias. Mrs. Honeychurch, who looked cross, was tying them up,while Miss Bartlett, unsuitably dressed, impeded her with offers ofassistance. At a little distance stood Minnie and the "garden-child," aminute importation, each holding either end of a long piece of bass.

  "Oh, how do you do, Mr. Beebe? Gracious what a mess everything is! Lookat my scarlet pompoms, and the wind blowing your skirts about, and theground so hard that not a prop will stick in, and then the carriagehaving to go out, when I had counted on having Powell, who--give everyone their due--does tie up dahlias properly."

  Evidently Mrs. Honeychurch was shattered.

  "How do you do?" said Miss Bartlett, with a meaning glance, as thoughconveying that more than dahlias had been broken off by the autumngales.

  "Here, Lennie, the bass," cried Mrs. Honeychurch. The garden-child, whodid not know what bass was, stood rooted to the path with horror. Minnieslipped to her uncle and whispered that everyone was very disagreeableto-day, and that it was not her fault if dahlia-strings would tearlongways instead of across.

  "Come for a walk with me," he told her. "You have worried them as muchas they can stand. Mrs. Honeychurch, I only called in aimlessly. I shalltake her up to tea at the Beehive Tavern, if I may."

  "Oh, must you? Yes do.--Not the scissors, thank you, Charlotte, whenboth my han
ds are full already--I'm perfectly certain that the orangecactus will go before I can get to it."

  Mr. Beebe, who was an adept at relieving situations, invited MissBartlett to accompany them to this mild festivity.

  "Yes, Charlotte, I don't want you--do go; there's nothing to stop aboutfor, either in the house or out of it."

  Miss Bartlett said that her duty lay in the dahlia bed, but when she hadexasperated everyone, except Minnie, by a refusal, she turned round andexasperated Minnie by an acceptance. As they walked up the garden, theorange cactus fell, and Mr. Beebe's last vision was of the garden-childclasping it like a lover, his dark head buried in a wealth of blossom.

  "It is terrible, this havoc among the flowers," he remarked.

  "It is always terrible when the promise of months is destroyed in amoment," enunciated Miss Bartlett.

  "Perhaps we ought to send Miss Honeychurch down to her mother. Or willshe come with us?"

  "I think we had better leave Lucy to herself, and to her own pursuits."

  "They're angry with Miss Honeychurch because she was late forbreakfast," whispered Minnie, "and Floyd has gone, and Mr. Vyse hasgone, and Freddy won't play with me. In fact, Uncle Arthur, the house isnot AT ALL what it was yesterday."

  "Don't be a prig," said her Uncle Arthur. "Go and put on your boots."

  He stepped into the drawing-room, where Lucy was still attentivelypursuing the Sonatas of Mozart. She stopped when he entered.

  "How do you do? Miss Bartlett and Minnie are coming with me to tea atthe Beehive. Would you come too?"

  "I don't think I will, thank you."

  "No, I didn't suppose you would care to much."

  Lucy turned to the piano and struck a few chords.

  "How delicate those Sonatas are!" said Mr. Beebe, though at the bottomof his heart, he thought them silly little things.

  Lucy passed into Schumann.

  "Miss Honeychurch!"

  "Yes."

  "I met them on the hill. Your brother told me."

  "Oh he did?" She sounded annoyed. Mr. Beebe felt hurt, for he hadthought that she would like him to be told.

  "I needn't say that it will go no further."

  "Mother, Charlotte, Cecil, Freddy, you," said Lucy, playing a note foreach person who knew, and then playing a sixth note.

  "If you'll let me say so, I am very glad, and I am certain that you havedone the right thing."

  "So I hoped other people would think, but they don't seem to."

  "I could see that Miss Bartlett thought it unwise."

  "So does mother. Mother minds dreadfully."

  "I am very sorry for that," said Mr. Beebe with feeling.

  Mrs. Honeychurch, who hated all changes, did mind, but not nearly asmuch as her daughter pretended, and only for the minute. It was reallya ruse of Lucy's to justify her despondency--a ruse of which she was notherself conscious, for she was marching in the armies of darkness.

  "And Freddy minds."

  "Still, Freddy never hit it off with Vyse much, did he? I gathered thathe disliked the engagement, and felt it might separate him from you."

  "Boys are so odd."

  Minnie could be heard arguing with Miss Bartlett through the floor. Teaat the Beehive apparently involved a complete change of apparel. Mr.Beebe saw that Lucy--very properly--did not wish to discuss her action,so after a sincere expression of sympathy, he said, "I have had anabsurd letter from Miss Alan. That was really what brought me over. Ithought it might amuse you all."

  "How delightful!" said Lucy, in a dull voice.

  For the sake of something to do, he began to read her the letter. Aftera few words her eyes grew alert, and soon she interrupted him with"Going abroad? When do they start?"

  "Next week, I gather."

  "Did Freddy say whether he was driving straight back?"

  "No, he didn't."

  "Because I do hope he won't go gossiping."

  So she did want to talk about her broken engagement. Always complaisant,he put the letter away. But she, at once exclaimed in a high voice, "Oh,do tell me more about the Miss Alans! How perfectly splendid of them togo abroad!"

  "I want them to start from Venice, and go in a cargo steamer down theIllyrian coast!"

  She laughed heartily. "Oh, delightful! I wish they'd take me."

  "Has Italy filled you with the fever of travel? Perhaps George Emersonis right. He says that 'Italy is only an euphuism for Fate.'"

  "Oh, not Italy, but Constantinople. I have always longed to go toConstantinople. Constantinople is practically Asia, isn't it?"

  Mr. Beebe reminded her that Constantinople was still unlikely, and thatthe Miss Alans only aimed at Athens, "with Delphi, perhaps, if the roadsare safe." But this made no difference to her enthusiasm. She had alwayslonged to go to Greece even more, it seemed. He saw, to his surprise,that she was apparently serious.

  "I didn't realize that you and the Miss Alans were still such friends,after Cissie Villa."

  "Oh, that's nothing; I assure you Cissie Villa's nothing to me; I wouldgive anything to go with them."

  "Would your mother spare you again so soon? You have scarcely been homethree months."

  "She MUST spare me!" cried Lucy, in growing excitement. "I simply MUSTgo away. I have to." She ran her fingers hysterically through her hair."Don't you see that I HAVE to go away? I didn't realize at the time--andof course I want to see Constantinople so particularly."

  "You mean that since you have broken off your engagement you feel--"

  "Yes, yes. I knew you'd understand."

  Mr. Beebe did not quite understand. Why could not Miss Honeychurchrepose in the bosom of her family? Cecil had evidently taken up thedignified line, and was not going to annoy her. Then it struck him thather family itself might be annoying. He hinted this to her, and sheaccepted the hint eagerly.

  "Yes, of course; to go to Constantinople until they are used to the ideaand everything has calmed down."

  "I am afraid it has been a bothersome business," he said gently.

  "No, not at all. Cecil was very kind indeed; only--I had better tellyou the whole truth, since you have heard a little--it was that he isso masterful. I found that he wouldn't let me go my own way. He wouldimprove me in places where I can't be improved. Cecil won't let a womandecide for herself--in fact, he daren't. What nonsense I do talk! Butthat is the kind of thing."

  "It is what I gathered from my own observation of Mr. Vyse; it is what Igather from all that I have known of you. I do sympathize and agreemost profoundly. I agree so much that you must let me make one littlecriticism: Is it worth while rushing off to Greece?"

  "But I must go somewhere!" she cried. "I have been worrying all themorning, and here comes the very thing." She struck her knees withclenched fists, and repeated: "I must! And the time I shall have withmother, and all the money she spent on me last spring. You all thinkmuch too highly of me. I wish you weren't so kind." At this moment MissBartlett entered, and her nervousness increased. "I must get away, everso far. I must know my own mind and where I want to go."

  "Come along; tea, tea, tea," said Mr. Beebe, and bustled his guests outof the front-door. He hustled them so quickly that he forgot his hat.When he returned for it he heard, to his relief and surprise, thetinkling of a Mozart Sonata.

  "She is playing again," he said to Miss Bartlett.

  "Lucy can always play," was the acid reply.

  "One is very thankful that she has such a resource. She is evidentlymuch worried, as, of course, she ought to be. I know all about it. Themarriage was so near that it must have been a hard struggle before shecould wind herself up to speak."

  Miss Bartlett gave a kind of wriggle, and he prepared for a discussion.He had never fathomed Miss Bartlett. As he had put it to himselfat Florence, "she might yet reveal depths of strangeness, if not ofmeaning." But she was so unsympathetic that she must be reliable. Heassumed that much, and he had no hesitation in discussing Lucy with her.Minnie was fortunately collecting ferns.

  She opened the di
scussion with: "We had much better let the matterdrop."

  "I wonder."

  "It is of the highest importance that there should be no gossip inSummer Street. It would be DEATH to gossip about Mr. Vyse's dismissal atthe present moment."

  Mr. Beebe raised his eyebrows. Death is a strong word--surely toostrong. There was no question of tragedy. He said: "Of course, MissHoneychurch will make the fact public in her own way, and when shechooses. Freddy only told me because he knew she would not mind."

  "I know," said Miss Bartlett civilly. "Yet Freddy ought not to have toldeven you. One cannot be too careful."

  "Quite so."

  "I do implore absolute secrecy. A chance word to a chattering friend,and--"

  "Exactly." He was used to these nervous old maids and to the exaggeratedimportance that they attach to words. A rector lives in a web of pettysecrets, and confidences and warnings, and the wiser he is the less hewill regard them. He will change the subject, as did Mr. Beebe, sayingcheerfully: "Have you heard from any Bertolini people lately? I believeyou keep up with Miss Lavish. It is odd how we of that pension,who seemed such a fortuitous collection, have been working into oneanother's lives. Two, three, four, six of us--no, eight; I had forgottenthe Emersons--have kept more or less in touch. We must really give theSignora a testimonial."

  And, Miss Bartlett not favouring the scheme, they walked up the hill ina silence which was only broken by the rector naming some fern. On thesummit they paused. The sky had grown wilder since he stood there lasthour, giving to the land a tragic greatness that is rare in Surrey.Grey clouds were charging across tissues of white, which stretched andshredded and tore slowly, until through their final layers there gleameda hint of the disappearing blue. Summer was retreating. The wind roared,the trees groaned, yet the noise seemed insufficient for those vastoperations in heaven. The weather was breaking up, breaking, broken,and it is a sense of the fit rather than of the supernatural that equipssuch crises with the salvos of angelic artillery. Mr. Beebe's eyesrested on Windy Corner, where Lucy sat, practising Mozart. No smile cameto his lips, and, changing the subject again, he said: "We shan't haverain, but we shall have darkness, so let us hurry on. The darkness lastnight was appalling."

  They reached the Beehive Tavern at about five o'clock. That amiablehostelry possesses a verandah, in which the young and the unwise dodearly love to sit, while guests of more mature years seek a pleasantsanded room, and have tea at a table comfortably. Mr. Beebe saw thatMiss Bartlett would be cold if she sat out, and that Minnie would bedull if she sat in, so he proposed a division of forces. They would handthe child her food through the window. Thus he was incidentally enabledto discuss the fortunes of Lucy.

  "I have been thinking, Miss Bartlett," he said, "and, unless youvery much object, I would like to reopen that discussion." She bowed."Nothing about the past. I know little and care less about that; I amabsolutely certain that it is to your cousin's credit. She has actedloftily and rightly, and it is like her gentle modesty to say that wethink too highly of her. But the future. Seriously, what do you think ofthis Greek plan?" He pulled out the letter again. "I don't know whetheryou overheard, but she wants to join the Miss Alans in their mad career.It's all--I can't explain--it's wrong."

  Miss Bartlett read the letter in silence, laid it down, seemed tohesitate, and then read it again.

  "I can't see the point of it myself."

  To his astonishment, she replied: "There I cannot agree with you. In itI spy Lucy's salvation."

  "Really. Now, why?"

  "She wanted to leave Windy Corner."

  "I know--but it seems so odd, so unlike her, so--I was going tosay--selfish."

  "It is natural, surely--after such painful scenes--that she shoulddesire a change."

  Here, apparently, was one of those points that the male intellectmisses. Mr. Beebe exclaimed: "So she says herself, and since anotherlady agrees with her, I must own that I am partially convinced. Perhapsshe must have a change. I have no sisters or--and I don't understandthese things. But why need she go as far as Greece?"

  "You may well ask that," replied Miss Bartlett, who was evidentlyinterested, and had almost dropped her evasive manner. "Why Greece?(What is it, Minnie dear--jam?) Why not Tunbridge Wells? Oh, Mr. Beebe!I had a long and most unsatisfactory interview with dear Lucy thismorning. I cannot help her. I will say no more. Perhaps I have alreadysaid too much. I am not to talk. I wanted her to spend six months withme at Tunbridge Wells, and she refused."

  Mr. Beebe poked at a crumb with his knife.

  "But my feelings are of no importance. I know too well that I get onLucy's nerves. Our tour was a failure. She wanted to leave Florence, andwhen we got to Rome she did not want to be in Rome, and all the time Ifelt that I was spending her mother's money--."

  "Let us keep to the future, though," interrupted Mr. Beebe. "I want youradvice."

  "Very well," said Charlotte, with a choky abruptness that was new tohim, though familiar to Lucy. "I for one will help her to go to Greece.Will you?"

  Mr. Beebe considered.

  "It is absolutely necessary," she continued, lowering her veil andwhispering through it with a passion, an intensity, that surprised him."I know--I know." The darkness was coming on, and he felt that this oddwoman really did know. "She must not stop here a moment, and we mustkeep quiet till she goes. I trust that the servants know nothing.Afterwards--but I may have said too much already. Only, Lucy and I arehelpless against Mrs. Honeychurch alone. If you help we may succeed.Otherwise--"

  "Otherwise--?"

  "Otherwise," she repeated as if the word held finality.

  "Yes, I will help her," said the clergyman, setting his jaw firm. "Come,let us go back now, and settle the whole thing up."

  Miss Bartlett burst into florid gratitude. The tavern sign--a beehivetrimmed evenly with bees--creaked in the wind outside as she thankedhim. Mr. Beebe did not quite understand the situation; but then, he didnot desire to understand it, nor to jump to the conclusion of "anotherman" that would have attracted a grosser mind. He only felt that MissBartlett knew of some vague influence from which the girl desired to bedelivered, and which might well be clothed in the fleshly form. Its veryvagueness spurred him into knight-errantry. His belief in celibacy, soreticent, so carefully concealed beneath his tolerance and culture, nowcame to the surface and expanded like some delicate flower. "They thatmarry do well, but they that refrain do better." So ran his belief,and he never heard that an engagement was broken off but with a slightfeeling of pleasure. In the case of Lucy, the feeling was intensifiedthrough dislike of Cecil; and he was willing to go further--to place herout of danger until she could confirm her resolution of virginity. Thefeeling was very subtle and quite undogmatic, and he never imparted itto any other of the characters in this entanglement. Yet it existed,and it alone explains his action subsequently, and his influence on theaction of others. The compact that he made with Miss Bartlett in thetavern, was to help not only Lucy, but religion also.

  They hurried home through a world of black and grey. He conversed onindifferent topics: the Emersons' need of a housekeeper; servants;Italian servants; novels about Italy; novels with a purpose; couldliterature influence life? Windy Corner glimmered. In the garden, Mrs.Honeychurch, now helped by Freddy, still wrestled with the lives of herflowers.

  "It gets too dark," she said hopelessly. "This comes of putting off. Wemight have known the weather would break up soon; and now Lucy wants togo to Greece. I don't know what the world's coming to."

  "Mrs. Honeychurch," he said, "go to Greece she must. Come up to thehouse and let's talk it over. Do you, in the first place, mind herbreaking with Vyse?"

  "Mr. Beebe, I'm thankful--simply thankful."

  "So am I," said Freddy.

  "Good. Now come up to the house."

  They conferred in the dining-room for half an hour.

  Lucy would never have carried the Greek scheme alone. It was expensiveand dramatic--both qualities that her mother loathed. Nor wouldCharlotte have
succeeded. The honours of the day rested with Mr. Beebe.By his tact and common sense, and by his influence as a clergyman--fora clergyman who was not a fool influenced Mrs. Honeychurch greatly--hebent her to their purpose, "I don't see why Greece is necessary," shesaid; "but as you do, I suppose it is all right. It must be something Ican't understand. Lucy! Let's tell her. Lucy!"

  "She is playing the piano," Mr. Beebe said. He opened the door, andheard the words of a song:

  "Look not thou on beauty's charming."

  "I didn't know that Miss Honeychurch sang, too."

  "Sit thou still when kings are arming, Taste not when the wine-cup glistens--"

  "It's a song that Cecil gave her. How odd girls are!"

  "What's that?" called Lucy, stopping short.

  "All right, dear," said Mrs. Honeychurch kindly. She went into thedrawing-room, and Mr. Beebe heard her kiss Lucy and say: "I am sorry Iwas so cross about Greece, but it came on the top of the dahlias."

  Rather a hard voice said: "Thank you, mother; that doesn't matter abit."

  "And you are right, too--Greece will be all right; you can go if theMiss Alans will have you."

  "Oh, splendid! Oh, thank you!"

  Mr. Beebe followed. Lucy still sat at the piano with her hands over thekeys. She was glad, but he had expected greater gladness. Her motherbent over her. Freddy, to whom she had been singing, reclined on thefloor with his head against her, and an unlit pipe between his lips.Oddly enough, the group was beautiful. Mr. Beebe, who loved the art ofthe past, was reminded of a favourite theme, the Santa Conversazione,in which people who care for one another are painted chatting togetherabout noble things--a theme neither sensual nor sensational, andtherefore ignored by the art of to-day. Why should Lucy want either tomarry or to travel when she had such friends at home?

  "Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, Speak not when the people listens,"

  she continued.

  "Here's Mr. Beebe."

  "Mr. Beebe knows my rude ways."

  "It's a beautiful song and a wise one," said he. "Go on."

  "It isn't very good," she said listlessly. "I forget why--harmony orsomething."

  "I suspected it was unscholarly. It's so beautiful."

  "The tune's right enough," said Freddy, "but the words are rotten. Whythrow up the sponge?"

  "How stupidly you talk!" said his sister. The Santa Conversazione wasbroken up. After all, there was no reason that Lucy should talk aboutGreece or thank him for persuading her mother, so he said good-bye.

  Freddy lit his bicycle lamp for him in the porch, and with his usualfelicity of phrase, said: "This has been a day and a half."

  "Stop thine ear against the singer--"

  "Wait a minute; she is finishing."

  "From the red gold keep thy finger; Vacant heart and hand and eye Easy live and quiet die."

  "I love weather like this," said Freddy.

  Mr. Beebe passed into it.

  The two main facts were clear. She had behaved splendidly, and he hadhelped her. He could not expect to master the details of so big a changein a girl's life. If here and there he was dissatisfied or puzzled, hemust acquiesce; she was choosing the better part.

  "Vacant heart and hand and eye--"

  Perhaps the song stated "the better part" rather too strongly. He halffancied that the soaring accompaniment--which he did not lose in theshout of the gale--really agreed with Freddy, and was gently criticizingthe words that it adorned:

  "Vacant heart and hand and eye Easy live and quiet die."

  However, for the fourth time Windy Corner lay poised below him--now as abeacon in the roaring tides of darkness.