12. MISS WINCHELSEA'S HEART
Miss Winchelsea was going to Rome. The matter had filled her mind fora month or more, and had overflowed so abundantly into her conversationthat quite a number of people who were not going to Rome, and who werenot likely to go to Rome, had made it a personal grievance against her.Some indeed had attempted quite unavailingly to convince her that Romewas not nearly such a desirable place as it was reported to be, andothers had gone so far as to suggest behind her back that she wasdreadfully "stuck up" about "that Rome of hers." And little LilyHardhurst had told her friend Mr. Binns that so far as she was concernedMiss Winchelsea might "go to her old Rome and stop there; SHE (Miss LilyHardhurst) wouldn't grieve." And the way in which Miss Winchelsea putherself upon terms of personal tenderness with Horace and BenvenutoCellini and Raphael and Shelley and Keats--if she had been Shelley'swidow she could not have professed a keener interest in his grave--wasa matter of universal astonishment. Her dress was a triumph of tactfuldiscretion, sensible, but not too "touristy"--Miss Winchelsea, had agreat dread of being "touristy"--and her Baedeker was carried in a coverof grey to hide its glaring red. She made a prim and pleasant littlefigure on the Charing Cross platform, in spite of her swelling pride,when at last the great day dawned, and she could start for Rome. Theday was bright, the Channel passage would be pleasant, and all theomens promised well. There was the gayest sense of adventure in thisunprecedented departure.
She was going with two friends who had been fellow-students with herat the training college, nice honest girls both, though not so good athistory and literature as Miss Winchelsea. They both looked up to herimmensely, though physically they had to look down, and she anticipatedsome pleasant times to be spent in "stirring them up" to her own pitchof aesthetic and historical enthusiasm. They had secured seats already,and welcomed her effusively at the carriage door. In the instantcriticism of the encounter she noted that Fanny had a slightly"touristy" leather strap, and that Helen had succumbed to a serge jacketwith side pockets, into which her hands were thrust. But they were muchtoo happy with themselves and the expedition for their friend toattempt any hint at the moment about these things. As soon as the firstecstasies were over--Fanny's enthusiasm was a little noisy and crude,and consisted mainly in emphatic repetitions of "Just FANCY! we'regoing to Rome, my dear!--Rome!"--they gave their attention to theirfellow-travellers. Helen was anxious to secure a compartment tothemselves, and, in order to discourage intruders, got out and plantedherself firmly on the step. Miss Winchelsea peeped out over hershoulder, and made sly little remarks about the accumulating people onthe platform, at which Fanny laughed gleefully.
They were travelling with one of Mr. Thomas Gunn's parties--fourteendays in Rome for fourteen pounds. They did not belong to the personallyconducted party of course--Miss Winchelsea had seen to that--but theytravelled with it because of the convenience of that arrangement. Thepeople were the oddest mixture, and wonderfully amusing. There was avociferous red-faced polyglot personal conductor in a pepper-and-saltsuit, very long in the arms and legs and very active. He shoutedproclamations. When he wanted to speak to people he stretched out an armand held them until his purpose was accomplished. One hand was full ofpapers, tickets, counterfoils of tourists. The people of the personallyconducted party were, it seemed, of two sorts; people the conductorwanted and could not find, and people he did not want and who followedhim in a steadily growing tail up and down the platform. These peopleseemed, indeed, to think that their one chance of reaching Rome layin keeping close to him. Three little old ladies were particularlyenergetic in his pursuit, and at last maddened him to the pitch ofclapping them into a carriage and daring them to emerge again. For therest of the time, one, two, or three of their heads protruded from thewindow wailing enquiries about "a little wickerwork box" whenever hedrew near. There was a very stout man with a very stout wife in shinyblack; there was a little old man like an aged hostler.
"What CAN such people want in Rome?" asked Miss Winchelsea. "What can itmean to them?" There was a very tall curate in a very small straw hat,and a very short curate encumbered by a long camera stand. The contrastamused Fanny very much. Once they heard some one calling for "Snooks.""I always thought that name was invented by novelists," said MissWinchelsea. "Fancy! Snooks. I wonder which IS Mr. Snooks." Finally theypicked out a very stout and resolute little man in a large check suit."If he isn't Snooks, he ought to be," said Miss Winchelsea.
Presently the conductor discovered Helen's attempt at a corner incarriages. "Room for five," he bawled with a parallel translation onhis fingers. A party of four together--mother, father, and twodaughters--blundered in, all greatly excited. "It's all right, Ma, youlet me," said one of the daughters, hitting her mother's bonnet witha handbag she struggled to put in the rack. Miss Winchelsea detestedpeople who banged about and called their mother "Ma." A young mantravelling alone followed. He was not at all "touristy" in his costume,Miss Winchelsea observed; his Gladstone bag was of good pleasant leatherwith labels reminiscent of Luxembourg and Ostend, and his boots, thoughbrown, were not vulgar. He carried an overcoat on his arm. Before thesepeople had properly settled in their places, came an inspection oftickets and a slamming of doors, and behold! they were gliding out ofCharing Cross station on their way to Rome.
"Fancy!" cried Fanny, "we are going to Rome, my dear! Rome! I don't seemto believe it, even now."
Miss Winchelsea suppressed Fanny's emotions with a little smile, andthe lady who was called "Ma" explained to people in general why theyhad "cut it so close" at the station. The two daughters called her "Ma"several times, toned her down in a tactless effective way, and drove herat last to the muttered inventory of a basket of travelling requisites.Presently she looked up. "Lor'!" she said, "I didn't bring THEM!"Both the daughters said "Oh, Ma!" but what "them" was did not appear.Presently Fanny produced Hare's Walks in Rome, a sort of mitigatedguide-book very popular among Roman visitors; and the father of the twodaughters began to examine his books of tickets minutely, apparently ina search after English words. When he had looked at the tickets for along time right way up, he turned them upside down. Then he produceda fountain pen and dated them with considerable care. The young man,having completed an unostentatious survey of his fellow travellers,produced a book and fell to reading. When Helen and Fanny were lookingout of the window at Chiselhurst--the place interested Fanny because thepoor dear Empress of the French used to live there--Miss Winchelsea tookthe opportunity to observe the book the young man held. It was not aguide-book, but a little thin volume of poetry--BOUND. She glanced athis face--it seemed a refined pleasant face to her hasty glance. He worea little gilt pince-nez. "Do you think she lives there now?" said Fanny,and Miss Winchelsea's inspection came to an end.
For the rest of the journey Miss Winchelsea talked little, and what shesaid was as pleasant and as stamped with refinement as she could makeit. Her voice was always low and clear and pleasant, and she took carethat on this occasion it was particularly low and clear and pleasant.As they came under the white cliffs the young man put his book of poetryaway, and when at last the train stopped beside the boat, he displayeda graceful alacrity with the impedimenta of Miss Winchelsea and herfriends. Miss Winchelsea hated nonsense, but she was pleased to seethe young man perceived at once that they were ladies, and helpedthem without any violent geniality; and how nicely he showed that hiscivilities were to be no excuse for further intrusions. None of herlittle party had been out of England before, and they were all excitedand a little nervous at the Channel passage. They stood in a littlegroup in a good place near the middle of the boat--the young man hadtaken Miss Winchelsea's carry-all there and had told her it was a goodplace--and they watched the white shores of Albion recede and quotedShakespeare and made quiet fun of their fellow travellers in the Englishway.
They were particularly amused at the precautions the bigger-sized peoplehad taken against the little waves--cut lemons and flasks prevailed, onelady lay full-length in a deck chair with a handkerchief over her fac
e,and a very broad resolute man in a bright brown "touristy" suit walkedall the way from England to France along the deck, with his legsas widely apart as Providence permitted. These were all excellentprecautions, and, nobody was ill. The personally conducted party pursuedthe conductor about the deck with enquiries in a manner that suggestedto Helen's mind the rather vulgar image of hens with a piece of baconpeel, until at last he went into hiding below. And the young man withthe thin volume of poetry stood at the stern watching England receding,looking rather lonely and sad to Miss Winchelsea's eye.
And then came Calais and tumultuous novelties, and the young man had notforgotten Miss Winchelsea's hold-all and the other little things. Allthree girls, though they had passed government examinations in Frenchto any extent, were stricken with a dumb shame of their accents, andthe young man was very useful. And he did not intrude. He put them in acomfortable carriage and raised his hat and went away. Miss Winchelseathanked him in her best manner--a pleasing, cultivated manner--and Fannysaid he was "nice" almost before he was out of earshot. "I wonder whathe can be," said Helen. "He's going to Italy, because I noticed greentickets in his book." Miss Winchelsea almost told them of the poetry,and decided not to do so. And presently the carriage windows seized holdupon them and the young man was forgotten. It made them feel that theywere doing an educated sort of thing to travel through a country whosecommonest advertisements were in idiomatic French, and Miss Winchelseamade unpatriotic comparisons because there were weedy little sign-boardadvertisements by the rail side instead of the broad hoardings thatdeface the landscape in our land. But the north of France is reallyuninteresting country, and after a time Fanny reverted to Hare's Walksand Helen initiated lunch. Miss Winchelsea awoke out of a happy reverie;she had been trying to realise, she said, that she was actually going toRome, but she perceived at Helen's suggestion that she was hungry, andthey lunched out of their baskets very cheerfully. In the afternoon theywere tired and silent until Helen made tea. Miss Winchelsea might havedozed, only she knew Fanny slept with her mouth open; and as theirfellow passengers were two rather nice critical-looking ladies ofuncertain age--who knew French well enough to talk it--she employedherself in keeping Fanny awake. The rhythm of the train becameinsistent, and the streaming landscape outside became at last quitepainful to the eye. They were already dreadfully tired of travellingbefore their night's stoppage came.
The stoppage for the night was brightened by the appearance of the youngman, and his manners were all that could be desired and his French quiteserviceable. His coupons availed for the same hotel as theirs, and bychance as it seemed he sat next Miss Winchelsea at the table d'hote.In spite of her enthusiasm for Rome, she had thought out some suchpossibility very thoroughly, and when he ventured to make a remark uponthe tediousness of travelling--he let the soup and fish go by before hedid this--she did not simply assent to his proposition, but respondedwith another. They were soon comparing their journeys, and Helen andFanny were cruelly overlooked in the conversation. It was to be the samejourney, they found; one day for the galleries at Florence--"from what Ihear," said the young man, "it is barely enough,"--and the rest at Rome.He talked of Rome very pleasantly; he was evidently quite well read, andhe quoted Horace about Soracte. Miss Winchelsea had "done" that book ofHorace for her matriculation, and was delighted to cap his quotation. Itgave a sort of tone to things, this incident--a touch of refinement tomere chatting. Fanny expressed a few emotions, and Helen interpolateda few sensible remarks, but the bulk of the talk on the girls' sidenaturally fell to Miss Winchelsea.
Before they reached Rome this young man was tacitly of their party. Theydid not know his name nor what he was, but it seemed he taught, and MissWinchelsea had a shrewd idea he was an extension lecturer. At any ratehe was something of that sort, something gentlemanly and refined withoutbeing opulent and impossible. She tried once or twice to ascertainwhether he came from Oxford or Cambridge, but he missed her timidimportunities. She tried to get him to make remarks about those placesto see if he would say "come up" to them instead of "go down"--she knewthat was how you told a 'Varsity man. He used the word "'Varsity"--notuniversity--in quite the proper way.
They saw as much of Mr. Ruskin's Florence as the brief time permitted;he met them in the Pitti Gallery and went round with them, chattingbrightly, and evidently very grateful for their recognition. He knew agreat deal about art, and all four enjoyed the morning immensely. It wasfine to go round recognising old favourites and finding new beauties,especially while so many people fumbled helplessly with Baedeker. Norwas he a bit of a prig, Miss Winchelsea said, and indeed she detestedprigs. He had a distinct undertone of humour, and was funny, forexample, without being vulgar, at the expense of the quaint work ofBeato Angelico. He had a grave seriousness beneath it all, and was quickto seize the moral lessons of the pictures. Fanny went softly amongthese masterpieces; she admitted "she knew so little about them," andshe confessed that to her they were "all beautiful." Fanny's "beautiful"inclined to be a little monotonous, Miss Winchelsea thought. She hadbeen quite glad when the last sunny Alp had vanished, because of thestaccato of Fanny's admiration. Helen said little, but Miss Winchelseahad found her a little wanting on the aesthetic side in the old days andwas not surprised; sometimes she laughed at the young man's hesitatingdelicate little jests and sometimes she didn't, and sometimes she seemedquite lost to the art about them in the contemplation of the dresses ofthe other visitors.
At Rome the young man was with them intermittently. A rather "touristy"friend of his took him away at times. He complained comically to MissWinchelsea. "I have only two short weeks in Rome," he said, "and myfriend Leonard wants to spend a whole day at Tivoli, looking at awaterfall."
"What is your friend Leonard?" asked Miss Winchelsea abruptly.
"He's the most enthusiastic pedestrian I ever met," the young manreplied, amusingly, but a little unsatisfactorily, Miss Winchelseathought. They had some glorious times, and Fanny could not think whatthey would have done without him. Miss Winchelsea's interest andFanny's enormous capacity for admiration were insatiable. They neverflagged--through pictures and sculpture galleries, immense crowdedchurches, ruins and museums, Judas trees and prickly pears, wine cartsand palaces, they admired their way unflinchingly. They never saw astone pine or a eucalyptus but they named and admired it; they neverglimpsed Soracte but they exclaimed. Their common ways were madewonderful by imaginative play. "Here Caesar may have walked," they wouldsay. "Raphael may have seen Soracte from this very point." They happenedon the tomb of Bibulus. "Old Bibulus," said the young man. "The oldestmonument of Republican Rome!" said Miss Winchelsea.
"I'm dreadfully stupid," said Fanny, "but who WAS Bibulus?"
There was a curious little pause.
"Wasn't he the person who built the wall?" said Helen.
The young man glanced quickly at her and laughed. "That was Balbus," hesaid. Helen reddened, but neither he nor Miss Winchelsea threw any lightupon Fanny's ignorance about Bibulus.
Helen was more taciturn than the other three, but then she was alwaystaciturn, and usually she took care of the tram tickets and things likethat, or kept her eye on them if the young man took them, and told himwhere they were when he wanted them. Glorious times they had, theseyoung people, in that pale brown cleanly city of memories that was oncethe world. Their only sorrow was the shortness of the time. They saidindeed that the electric trams and the '70 buildings, and that criminaladvertisement that glares upon the Forum, outraged their aestheticfeelings unspeakably; but that was only part of the fun. And indeed Romeis such a wonderful place that it made Miss Winchelsea forget someof her most carefully prepared enthusiasms at times, and Helen, takenunawares, would suddenly admit the beauty of unexpected things. YetFanny and Helen would have liked a shop window or so in the Englishquarter if Miss Winchelsea's uncompromising hostility to all otherEnglish visitors had not rendered that district impossible.
The intellectual and aesthetic fellowship of Miss Winchelsea and thescholarly young man passed insen
sibly towards a deeper feeling.The exuberant Fanny did her best to keep pace with their reconditeadmiration by playing her "beautiful," with vigour, and saying "Oh!LET'S go," with enormous appetite whenever a new place of interest wasmentioned. But Helen developed a certain want of sympathy towards theend, that disappointed Miss Winchelsea a little. She refused to "seeanything" in the face of Beatrice Cenci--Shelley's Beatrice Cenci!--inthe Barberini gallery; and one day, when they were deploring theelectric trams, she said rather snappishly that "people must get aboutsomehow, and it's better than torturing horses up these horrid littlehills." She spoke of the Seven Hills of Rome as "horrid little hills!"
And the day they went on the Palatine--though Miss Winchelsea did notknow of this--she remarked suddenly to Fanny, "Don't hurry like that,my dear; THEY don't want us to overtake them. And we don't say the rightthings for them when we DO get near."
"I wasn't trying to overtake them," said Fanny, slackening her excessivepace; "I wasn't indeed." And for a minute she was short of breath.
But Miss Winchelsea had come upon happiness. It was only when she cameto look back across an intervening tragedy that she quite realisedhow happy she had been, pacing among the cypress-shadowed ruins, andexchanging the very highest class of information the human mindcan possess, the most refined impressions it is possible to convey.Insensibly emotion crept into their intercourse, sunning itselfopenly and pleasantly at last when Helen's modernity was not too near.Insensibly their interest drifted from the wonderful associations aboutthem to their more intimate and personal feelings. In a tentative wayinformation was supplied; she spoke allusively of her school, of herexamination successes, of her gladness that the days of "Cram" wereover. He made it quite clear that he also was a teacher. They spoke ofthe greatness of their calling, of the necessity of sympathy to face itsirksome details, of a certain loneliness they sometimes felt.
That was in the Colosseum, and it was as far as they got that day,because Helen returned with Fanny--she had taken her into the uppergalleries. Yet the private dreams of Miss Winchelsea, already vivid andconcrete enough, became now realistic in the highest degree. She figuredthat pleasant young man, lecturing in the most edifying way to hisstudents, herself modestly prominent as his intellectual mate andhelper; she figured a refined little home, with two bureaus, with whiteshelves of high-class books, and autotypes of the pictures of Rossettiand Burne-Jones, with Morris's wall papers and flowers in pots of beatencopper. Indeed she figured many things. On the Pincio the two had a fewprecious moments together, while Helen marched Fanny off to see the muroTorto, and he spoke at once plainly. He said he hoped their friendshipwas only beginning, that he already found her company very precious tohim, that indeed it was more than that.
He became nervous, thrusting at his glasses with trembling fingers asthough he fancied his emotions made them unstable. "I should of course,"he said, "tell you things about myself. I know it is rather unusual myspeaking to you like this. Only our meeting has been so accidental--orprovidential--and I am snatching at things. I came to Rome expectinga lonely tour... and I have been so very happy, so very happy. Quiterecently I found myself in a position--I have dared to think--. And--"
He glanced over his shoulder and stopped. He said "Damn!" quitedistinctly--and she did not condemn him for that manly lapse intoprofanity. She looked and saw his friend Leonard advancing. He drewnearer; he raised his hat to Miss Winchelsea, and his smile was almosta grin. "I've been looking for you everywhere, Snooks," he said. "Youpromised to be on the Piazza steps half an hour ago."
Snooks! The name struck Miss Winchelsea like a blow in the face. Shedid not hear his reply. She thought afterwards that Leonard must haveconsidered her the vaguest-minded person. To this day she is not surewhether she was introduced to Leonard or not, nor what she said tohim. A sort of mental paralysis was upon her. Of all offensivesurnames--Snooks!
Helen and Fanny were returning, there were civilities, and the youngmen were receding. By a great effort she controlled herself to face theenquiring eyes of her friends. All that afternoon she lived the lifeof a heroine under the indescribable outrage of that name, chatting,observing, with "Snooks" gnawing at her heart. From the moment that itfirst rang upon her ears, the dream of her happiness was prostrate inthe dust. All the refinement she had figured was ruined and defaced bythat cognomen's unavoidable vulgarity.
What was that refined little home to her now, spite of autotypes, Morrispapers, and bureaus? Athwart it in letters of fire ran an incredibleinscription: "Mrs. Snooks." That may seem a little thing to the reader,but consider the delicate refinement of Miss Winchelsea's mind. Be asrefined as you can and then think of writing yourself down:--"Snooks."She conceived herself being addressed as Mrs. Snooks by all the peopleshe liked least, conceived the patronymic touched with a vague qualityof insult. She figured a card of grey and silver bearing "Winchelsea,"triumphantly effaced by an arrow, Cupid's arrow, in favour of "Snooks."Degrading confession of feminine weakness! She imagined the terriblerejoicings of certain girl friends, of certain grocer cousins from whomher growing refinement had long since estranged her. How they wouldmake it sprawl across the envelope that would bring their sarcasticcongratulations. Would even his pleasant company compensate her forthat? "It is impossible," she muttered; "impossible! SNOOKS!"
She was sorry for him, but not so sorry as she was for herself. For himshe had a touch of indignation. To be so nice, so refined, while all thetime he was "Snooks," to hide under a pretentious gentility of demeanourthe badge sinister of his surname seemed a sort of treachery. To put itin the language of sentimental science she felt he had "led her on."
There were of course moments of terrible vacillation, a period even whensomething almost like passion bid her throw refinement to the winds. Andthere was something in her, an unexpurgated vestige of vulgarity, thatmade a strenuous attempt at proving that Snooks was not so very bad aname after all. Any hovering hesitation flew before Fanny's manner, whenFanny came with an air of catastrophe to tell that she also knew thehorror. Fanny's voice fell to a whisper when she said SNOOKS. MissWinchelsea would not give him any answer when at last, in the Borghese,she could have a minute with him; but she promised him a note.
She handed him that note in the little book of poetry he had lent her,the little book that had first drawn them together. Her refusal wasambiguous, allusive. She could no more tell him why she rejectedhim than she could have told a cripple of his hump. He too must feelsomething of the unspeakable quality of his name. Indeed he had avoideda dozen chances of telling it, she now perceived. So she spoke of"obstacles she could not reveal"--"reasons why the thing he spoke of wasimpossible." She addressed the note with a shiver, "E. K. Snooks."
Things were worse than she had dreaded; he asked her to explain. HowCOULD she explain? Those last two days in Rome were dreadful. She washaunted by his air of astonished perplexity. She knew she had given himintimate hopes, she had not the courage to examine her mind thoroughlyfor the extent of her encouragement. She knew he must think her the mostchangeable of beings. Now that she was in full retreat, she would noteven perceive his hints of a possible correspondence. But in that matterhe did a thing that seemed to her at once delicate and romantic. He madea go-between of Fanny. Fanny could not keep the secret, and came andtold her that night under a transparent pretext of needed advice. "Mr.Snooks," said Fanny, "wants to write to me. Fancy! I had no idea. Butshould I let him?" They talked it over long and earnestly, and MissWinchelsea was careful to keep the veil over her heart. She wasalready repenting his disregarded hints. Why should she not hear ofhim sometimes--painful though his name must be to her? Miss Winchelseadecided it might be permitted, and Fanny kissed her good-night withunusual emotion. After she had gone Miss Winchelsea sat for a long timeat the window of her little room. It was moonlight, and down the streeta man sang "Santa Lucia" with almost heart-dissolving tenderness.... Shesat very still.
She breathed a word very softly to herself. The word was "SNOOKS." Thenshe got up with a profound sigh,
and went to bed. The next morning hesaid to her meaningly, "I shall hear of you through your friend."
Mr. Snooks saw them off from Rome with that pathetic interrogativeperplexity still on his face, and if it had not been for Helen hewould have retained Miss Winchelsea's hold-all in his hand as a sort ofencyclopaedic keepsake. On their way back to England Miss Winchelsea onsix separate occasions made Fanny promise to write to her the longest oflong letters. Fanny, it seemed, would be quite near Mr. Snooks. Her newschool--she was always going to new schools--would be only five milesfrom Steely Bank, and it was in the Steely Bank Polytechnic, and one ortwo first-class schools, that Mr. Snooks did his teaching. He might evensee her at times. They could not talk much of him--she and Fanny alwaysspoke of "him," never of Mr. Snooks,--because Helen was apt to sayunsympathetic things about him. Her nature had coarsened very much,Miss Winchelsea perceived, since the old Training College days; shehad become hard and cynical. She thought he had a weak face, mistakingrefinement for weakness as people of her stamp are apt to do, and whenshe heard his name was Snooks, she said she had expected something ofthe sort. Miss Winchelsea was careful to spare her own feelings afterthat, but Fanny was less circumspect.
The girls parted in London, and Miss Winchelsea returned, with a newinterest in life, to the Girls' High School in which she had beenan increasingly valuable assistant for the last three years. Her newinterest in life was Fanny as a correspondent, and to give her a leadshe wrote her a lengthy descriptive letter within a fortnight of herreturn. Fanny answered, very disappointingly. Fanny indeed had noliterary gift, but it was new to Miss Winchelsea to find herselfdeploring the want of gifts in a friend. That letter was even criticisedaloud in the safe solitude of Miss Winchelsea's study, and hercriticism, spoken with great bitterness, was "Twaddle!" It was full ofjust the things Miss Winchelsea's letter had been full of, particularsof the school. And of Mr. Snooks, only this much: "I have had aletter from Mr. Snooks, and he has been over to see me on two Saturdayafternoons running. He talked about Rome and you; we both talked aboutyou. Your ears must have burnt, my dear...."
Miss Winchelsea repressed a desire to demand more explicit information,and wrote the sweetest long letter again. "Tell me all about yourself,dear. That journey has quite refreshed our ancient friendship, and I doso want to keep in touch with you." About Mr. Snooks she simply wroteon the fifth page that she was glad Fanny had seen him, and that ifhe SHOULD ask after her, she was to be remembered to him VERY KINDLY(underlined). And Fanny replied most obtusely in the key of that"ancient friendship," reminding Miss Winchelsea of a dozen foolishthings of those old schoolgirl days at the training college, and sayingnot a word about Mr. Snooks!
For nearly a week Miss Winchelsea was so angry at the failure of Fannyas a go-between that she could not write to her. And then she wrote lesseffusively, and in her letter she asked point-blank, "Have you seen Mr.Snooks?" Fanny's letter was unexpectedly satisfactory. "I HAVE seen Mr.Snooks," she wrote, and having once named him she kept on about him;it was all Snooks--Snooks this and Snooks that. He was to give a publiclecture, said Fanny, among other things. Yet Miss Winchelsea, afterthe first glow of gratification, still found this letter a littleunsatisfactory. Fanny did not report Mr. Snooks as saying anything aboutMiss Winchelsea, nor as looking a little white and worn, as he oughtto have been doing. And behold! before she had replied, came a secondletter from Fanny on the same theme, quite a gushing letter, andcovering six sheets with her loose feminine hand.
And about this second letter was a rather odd little thing that MissWinchelsea only noticed as she re-read it the third time. Fanny'snatural femininity had prevailed even against the round and cleartraditions of the training college; she was one of those she-creaturesborn to make all her m's and n's and u's and r's and e's alike, and toleave her o's and a's open and her i's undotted. So that it was onlyafter an elaborate comparison of word with word that Miss Winchelseafelt assured Mr. Snooks was not really "Mr. Snooks" at all! In Fanny'sfirst letter of gush he was Mr. "Snooks," in her second the spelling waschanged to Mr. "Senoks." Miss Winchelsea's hand positively trembled asshe turned the sheet over--it meant so much to her. For it had alreadybegun to seem to her that even the name of Mrs. Snooks might be avoidedat too great a price, and suddenly--this possibility! She turned overthe six sheets, all dappled with that critical name, and everywhere thefirst letter had the form of an E! For a time she walked the room with ahand pressed upon her heart.
She spent a whole day pondering this change, weighing a letter ofinquiry that should be at once discreet and effectual, weighing too whataction she should take after the answer came. She was resolved that ifthis altered spelling was anything more than a quaint fancy of Fanny's,she would write forthwith to Mr. Snooks. She had now reached a stagewhen the minor refinements of behaviour disappear. Her excuse remaineduninvented, but she had the subject of her letter clear in her mind,even to the hint that "circumstances in my life have changed verygreatly since we talked together." But she never gave that hint. Therecame a third letter from that fitful correspondent Fanny. The first lineproclaimed her "the happiest girl alive."
Miss Winchelsea crushed the letter in her hand--the rest unread--andsat with her face suddenly very still. She had received it just beforemorning school, and had opened it when the junior mathematicians werewell under way. Presently she resumed reading with an appearance ofgreat calm. But after the first sheet she went on reading the thirdwithout discovering the error:--"told him frankly I did not likehis name," the third sheet began. "He told me he did not like ithimself--you know that sort of sudden frank way he has"--Miss Winchelseadid know. "So I said 'Couldn't you change it?' He didn't see it atfirst. Well, you know, dear, he had told me what it really meant; itmeans Sevenoaks, only it has got down to Snooks--both Snooks and Noaks,dreadfully vulgar surnames though they be, are really worn forms ofSevenoaks. So I said--even I have my bright ideas at times--'if itgot down from Sevenoaks to Snooks, why not get it back from Snooksto Sevenoaks?' And the long and the short of it is, dear, he couldn'trefuse me, and he changed his spelling there and then to Senoks for thebills of the new lecture. And afterwards, when we are married, we shallput in the apostrophe and make it Se'noks. Wasn't it kind of him to mindthat fancy of mine, when many men would have taken offence? But it isjust like him all over; he is as kind as he is clever. Because he knewas well as I did that I would have had him in spite of it, had he beenten times Snooks. But he did it all the same."
The class was startled by the sound of paper being viciously torn, andlooked up to see Miss Winchelsea white in the face, and with some verysmall pieces of paper clenched in one hand. For a few seconds theystared at her stare, and then her expression changed back to a morefamiliar one. "Has any one finished number three?" she asked in an eventone. She remained calm after that. But impositions ruled high that day.And she spent two laborious evenings writing letters of various sortsto Fanny, before she found a decent congratulatory vein. Her reasonstruggled hopelessly against the persuasion that Fanny had behaved in anexceedingly treacherous manner.
One may be extremely refined and still capable of a very sore heart.Certainly Miss Winchelsea's heart was very sore. She had moods of sexualhostility, in which she generalised uncharitably about mankind. "Heforgot himself with me," she said. "But Fanny is pink and pretty andsoft and a fool--a very excellent match for a Man." And by way of awedding present she sent Fanny a gracefully bound volume of poetry byGeorge Meredith, and Fanny wrote back a grossly happy letter to say thatit was "ALL beautiful." Miss Winchelsea hoped that some day Mr. Senoksmight take up that slim book and think for a moment of the donor. Fannywrote several times before and about her marriage, pursuing that fondlegend of their "ancient friendship," and giving her happiness in thefullest detail. And Miss Winchelsea wrote to Helen for the firsttime after the Roman journey, saying nothing about the marriage, butexpressing very cordial feelings.
They had been in Rome at Easter, and Fanny was married in the Augustvacation. She wrote a garrulous letter to
Miss Winchelsea, describingher home-coming, and the astonishing arrangements of their "teeny weeny"little house. Mr. Se'noks was now beginning to assume a refinement inMiss Winchelsea's memory out of all proportion to the facts of the case,and she tried in vain to imagine his cultured greatness in a "teenyweeny" little house. "Am busy enamelling a cosey corner," said Fanny,sprawling to the end of her third sheet, "so excuse more." MissWinchelsea answered in her best style, gently poking fun at Fanny'sarrangements and hoping intensely that Mr. Sen'oks might see the letter.Only this hope enabled her to write at all, answering not only thatletter but one in November and one at Christmas.
The two latter communications contained urgent invitations for her tocome to Steely Bank on a Visit during the Christmas holidays. She triedto think that HE had told her to ask that, but it was too much likeFanny's opulent good-nature. She could not but believe that he must besick of his blunder by this time; and she had more than a hope that hewould presently write her a letter beginning "Dear Friend." Somethingsubtly tragic in the separation was a great support to her, a sadmisunderstanding. To have been jilted would have been intolerable. Buthe never wrote that letter beginning "Dear Friend."
For two years Miss Winchelsea could not go to see her friends, inspite of the reiterated invitations of Mrs. Sevenoaks--it became fullSevenoaks in the second year. Then one day near the Easter rest she feltlonely and without a soul to understand her in the world, and her mindran once more on what is called Platonic friendship. Fanny was clearlyhappy and busy in her new sphere of domesticity, but no doubt HE had hislonely hours. Did he ever think of those days in Rome--gone now beyondrecalling? No one had understood her as he had done; no one in all theworld. It would be a sort of melancholy pleasure to talk to him again,and what harm could it do? Why should she deny herself? That night shewrote a sonnet, all but the last two lines of the octave--which wouldnot come, and the next day she composed a graceful little note to tellFanny she was coming down.
And so she saw him again.
Even at the first encounter it was evident he had changed; he seemedstouter and less nervous, and it speedily appeared that his conversationhad already lost much of its old delicacy. There even seemed ajustification for Helen's description of weakness in his face--incertain lights it WAS weak. He seemed busy and preoccupied about hisaffairs, and almost under the impression that Miss Winchelsea hadcome for the sake of Fanny. He discussed his dinner with Fanny in anintelligent way. They only had one good long talk together, and thatcame to nothing. He did not refer to Rome, and spent some time abusing aman who had stolen an idea he had had for a text-book. It did not seem avery wonderful idea to Miss Winchelsea. She discovered he had forgottenthe names of more than half the painters whose work they had rejoicedover in Florence.
It was a sadly disappointing week, and Miss Winchelsea was glad when itcame to an end. Under various excuses she avoided visiting them again.After a time the visitor's room was occupied by their two little boys,and Fanny's invitations ceased. The intimacy of her letters had longsince faded away.