_Chapter 24_
When Helena arrived home on the Thursday evening she found everythingrepulsive. All the odours of the sordid street through which she mustpass hung about the pavement, having crept out in the heat. The housewas bare and narrow. She remembered children sometimes to have broughther moths shut up in matchboxes. As she knocked at the door she feltlike a numbed moth which a boy is pushing off its leaf-rest intohis box.
The door was opened by her mother. She was a woman whose sunken mouth,ruddy cheeks, and quick brown eyes gave her the appearance of a birdwhich walks about pecking suddenly here and there. As Helena reluctantlyentered the mother drew herself up, and immediately relaxed, seeming topeck forwards as she said:
'Well?'
'Well, here we are!' replied the daughter in a matter-of-fact tone.
Her mother was inclined to be affectionate, therefore she becameproportionately cold.
'So I see,' exclaimed Mrs Verden, tossing her head in a peculiar jocularmanner. 'And what sort of a time have you had?'
'Oh, very good,' replied Helena, still more coolly.
'H'm!'
Mrs Verden looked keenly at her daughter. She recognized the peculiarsulky, childish look she knew so well, therefore, making an effort, sheforbore to question.
'You look well,' she said.
Helena smiled ironically.
'And are you ready for your supper?' she asked, in the playful,affectionate manner she had assumed.
'If the supper is ready I will have it,' replied her daughter.
'Well, it's not ready.' The mother shut tight her sunken mouth, andregarded her daughter with playful challenge. 'Because,' she continued,'I didn't known when you were coming.' She gave a jerk with her arm,like an orator who utters the incontrovertible. 'But,' she added, aftera tedious dramatic pause, 'I can soon have it ready. What willyou have?'
'The full list of your capacious larder,' replied Helena.
Mrs Verden looked at her again, and hesitated.
'Will you have cocoa or lemonade?' she asked, coming to the pointcurtly.
'Lemonade,' said Helena.
Presently Mr Verden entered--a small, white-bearded man with a gentlevoice.
'Oh, so you are back, Nellie!' he said, in his quiet, reserved manner.
'As you see, Pater,' she answered.
'H'm!' he murmured, and he moved about at his accounts.
Neither of her parents dared to question Helena. They moved about her ontiptoe, stealthily. Yet neither subserved her. Her father's quiet 'H'm!'her mother's curt question, made her draw inwards like a snail which cannever retreat far enough from condemning eyes. She made a carelesspretence of eating. She was like a child which has done wrong, and willnot be punished, but will be left with the humiliating smear ofoffence upon it.
There was a quick, light palpitating of the knocker. Mrs Verden went tothe door.
'Has she come?'
And there were hasty steps along the passage. Louisa entered. She flungherself upon Helena and kissed her.
'How long have you been in?' she asked, in a voice trembling withaffection.
'Ten minutes,' replied Helena.
'Why didn't you send me the time of the train, so that I could come andmeet you?' Louisa reproached her.
'Why?' drawled Helena.
Louisa looked at her friend without speaking. She was deeply hurt bythis sarcasm.
As soon as possible Helena went upstairs. Louisa stayed with her thatnight. On the next day they were going to Cornwall together for theirusual midsummer holiday. They were to be accompanied by a third girl--aminor friend of Louisa, a slight acquaintance of Helena.
During the night neither of the two friends slept much. Helena madeconfidences to Louisa, who brooded on these, on the romance and tragedywhich enveloped the girl she loved so dearly. Meanwhile, Helena'sthoughts went round and round, tethered amid the five days by the sea,pulling forwards as far as the morrow's meeting with Siegmund, butreaching no further.
Friday was an intolerable day of silence, broken by little tenderadvances and playful, affectionate sallies on the part of the mother,all of which were rapidly repulsed. The father said nothing, and avoidedhis daughter with his eyes. In his humble reserve there was a dignitywhich made his disapproval far more difficult to bear than the repeatedflagrant questionings of the mother's eyes. But the day wore on. Helenapretended to read, and sat thinking. She played her violin a little,mechanically. She went out into the town, and wandered about.
At last the night fell.
'Well,' said Helena to her mother, 'I suppose I'd better pack.'
'Haven't you done it?' cried Mrs Verden, exaggerating her surprise.'You'll never have it done. I'd better help you. What times does thetrain go?'
Helena smiled.
'Ten minutes to ten.'
Her mother glanced at the clock. It was only half-past eight. There wasample time for everything.
'Nevertheless, you'd better look sharp,' Mrs Verden said.
Helena turned away, weary of this exaggeration.
'I'll come with you to the station,' suggested Mrs Verden. 'I'll see thelast of you. We shan't see much of you just now.'
Helena turned round in surprise.
'Oh, I wouldn't bother,' she said, fearing to make her disapproval tooevident.
'Yes--I will--I'll see you off.'
Mrs Verden's animation and indulgence were remarkable. Usually she wascurt and undemonstrative. On occasions like these, however, when she wasreminded of the ideal relations between mother and daughter, she playedthe part of the affectionate parent, much to the general distress.
Helena lit a candle and went to her bedroom. She quickly packed herdress-basket. As she stood before the mirror to put on her hat, hereyes, gazing heavily, met her heavy eyes in the mirror. She glanced awayswiftly as if she had been burned.
'How stupid I look!' she said to herself. 'And Siegmund, how is he, Iwonder?'
She wondered how Siegmund had passed the day, what had happened to him,how he felt, how he looked. She thought of him protectively.
Having strapped her basket, she carried it downstairs. Her mother wasready, with a white lace scarf round her neck. After a short time Louisacame in. She dropped her basket in the passage, and then sank intoa chair.
'I don't want to go, Nell,' she said, after a few moments of silence.
'Why, how is that?' asked Helena, not surprised, but condescending, asto a child.
'Oh, I don't know; I'm tired,' said the other petulantly.
'Of course you are. What do you expect, after a day like this?' saidHelena.
'And rushing about packing,' exclaimed Mrs Verden, still in anexaggerated manner, this time scolding playfully.
'Oh, I don't know. I don't think I want to go, dear,' repeated Louisadejectedly.
'Well, it is time we set out,' replied Helena, rising. 'Will you carrythe basket or the violin, Mater?'
Louisa rose, and with a forlorn expression took up her light luggage.
The west opposite the door was smouldering with sunset. Darkness is onlysmoke that hangs suffocatingly over the low red heat of the sunken day.Such was Helena's longed-for night. The tramcar was crowded. In onecorner Olive, the third friend, rose excitedly to greet them. Helena satmute, while the car swung through the yellow, stale lights of athird-rate street of shops. She heard Olive remarking on her sunburnedface and arms; she became aware of the renewed inflammation in herblistered arms; she heard her own curious voice answering. Everythingwas in a maze. To the beat of the car, while the yellow blur of theshops passed over her eyes, she repeated: 'Two hundred and fortymiles--two hundred and forty miles.'