Howard's End
by
E.M. Forster
Chapters 1-10
Chapters 1-10Chapters 11-20
Chapters 21-30
Chapters 31-40
Chapters 41-44
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[2] Chapter 1
[3]
[4] One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister.
[5]
[6]
[7] HOWARDS END,
[8] TUESDAY.
[9]
[10] Dearest Meg,
[11]
[12] It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old and
[13] little, and altogether delightful--red brick. We can
[14] scarcely pack in as it is, and the dear knows what will
[15] happen when Paul (younger son) arrives tomorrow. From hall
[16] you go right or left into dining-room or drawing-room. Hall
[17] itself is practically a room. You open another door in it,
[18] and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to the
[19] first-floor. Three bedrooms in a row there, and three
[20] attics in a row above. That isn't all the house really, but
[21] it's all that one notices--nine windows as you look up from
[22] the front garden.
[23]
[24] Then there's a very big wych-elm--to the left as you
[25] look up--leaning a little over the house, and standing on
[26] the boundary between the garden and meadow. I quite love
[27] that tree already. Also ordinary elms, oaks--no nastier
[28] than ordinary oaks--pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. No
[29] silver birches, though. However, I must get on to my host
[30] and hostess. I only wanted to show that it isn't the least
[31] what we expected. Why did we settle that their house would
[32] be all gables and wiggles, and their garden all
[33] gamboge-coloured paths? I believe simply because we
[34] associate them with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailing
[35] in beautiful dresses down long corridors, Mr. Wilcox
[36] bullying porters, etc. We females are that unjust.
[37]
[38] I shall be back Saturday; will let you know train
[39] later. They are as angry as I am that you did not come too;
[40] really Tibby is too tiresome, he starts a new mortal disease
[41] every month. How could he have got hay fever in London?
[42] and even if he could, it seems hard that you should give up
[43] a visit to hear a schoolboy sneeze. Tell him that Charles
[44] Wilcox (the son who is here) has hay fever too, but he's
[45] brave, and gets quite cross when we inquire after it. Men
[46] like the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a power of good. But you
[47] won't agree, and I'd better change the subject.
[48]
[49] This long letter is because I'm writing before
[50] breakfast. Oh, the beautiful vine leaves! The house is
[51] covered with a vine. I looked out earlier, and Mrs. Wilcox
[52] was already in the garden. She evidently loves it. No
[53] wonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching the
[54] large red poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn to
[55] the meadow, whose corner to the right I can just see.
[56] Trail, trail, went her long dress over the sopping grass,
[57] and she came back with her hands full of the hay that was
[58] cut yesterday--I suppose for rabbits or something, as she
[59] kept on smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on I
[60] heard the noise of croquet balls, and looked out again, and
[61] it was Charles Wilcox practising; they are keen on all
[62] games. Presently he started sneezing and had to stop. Then
[63] I hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox practising, and
[64] then, 'a-tissue, a-tissue': he has to stop too. Then Evie
[65] comes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machine
[66] that is tacked on to a greengage-tree--they put everything
[67] to use--and then she says 'a-tissue,' and in she goes. And
[68] finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears, trail, trail, still smelling
[69] hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict all this on you
[70] because once you said that life is sometimes life and
[71] sometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish
[72] t'other from which, and up to now I have always put that
[73] down as 'Meg's clever nonsense.' But this morning, it really
[74] does seem not life but a play, and it did amuse me
[75] enormously to watch the W's. Now Mrs. Wilcox has come in.
[76]
[77] I am going to wear [omission]. Last night Mrs. Wilcox
[78] wore an [omission], and Evie [omission]. So it isn't
[79] exactly a go-as-you-please place, and if you shut your eyes
[80] it still seems the wiggly hotel that we expected. Not if
[81] you open them. The dog-roses are too sweet. There is a
[82] great hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall, so
[83] that they fall down in garlands, and nice and thin at the
[84] bottom, so that you can see ducks through it and a cow.
[85] These belong to the farm, which is the only house near us.
[86] There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love to
[87] Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep
[88] you company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again
[89] Thursday.
[90]
[91] Helen
[92]
[93]
[94] HOWARDS END,
[95] FRIDAY.
[96]
[97] Dearest Meg,
[98]
[99] I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs.
[100] Wilcox, if quieter than in Germany, is sweeter than ever,
[101] and I never saw anything like her steady unselfishness, and
[102] the best of it is that the others do not take advantage of
[103] her. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you
[104] can imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends.
[105] The fun of it is that they think me a noodle, and say so--at
[106] least Mr. Wilcox does--and when that happens, and one
[107] doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure test, isn't it? He says
[108] the most horrid things about women's suffrage so nicely, and
[109] when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms
[110] and gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg,
[111] shall we ever learn to talk less? I never felt so ashamed
[112] of myself in my life. I couldn't point to a time when men
[113] had been equal, nor even to a time when the wish to be equal
[114] had made them happier in other ways. I couldn't say a
[115] word. I had just picked up the notion that equality is good
[116] from some book--probably from poetry, or you. Anyhow, it's
[117] been knocked into pieces, and, like all people who are
[118] really strong, Mr. Wilcox did it without hurting me. On the
[119] other hand, I laugh at them for catching hay fever. We live
[120] like fighting-cocks, and Charles takes us out every day in
[121] the motor--a tomb with trees in it, a hermit's house, a
[122] wonderful road that was made by the Kings of
[123] Mercia--tennis--a cricket match--bridge--and at night we
[124] squeeze up in this lovely house. The whole clan's here
[125] now--it's like a rabbit warren. Evie is a dear. They want
[126] me to stop over Sunday--I suppose it won't matter if I do.
[127] Marvellous weather and the view's marvellous--views westward
[128] to the high ground. Thank you for your letter. Burn this.
[129]
[130] Your affectionate
[131] Helen
[132]
[133]
[134] HOWARDS END,
[135] SUNDAY.
[136]
[137] Dearest, dearest Meg,--I do not know what you will say:
[138] Paul and I are in love--the younger son who only came here
[139] Wednesday.
[140]
[141]
[142] Chapter 2
[143]
[144] Margaret glanced at her sister's note and pushed it over the
[145] breakfast-table to her aunt. There was a moment's hush, and
[146] then the flood-gates opened.
[147]
[148] "I can tell you nothing, Aunt Juley. I know no more
[149] than you do. We met--we only met the father and mother
[150] abroad last spring. I know so little that I didn't even
[151] know their son's name. It's all so--" She waved her hand
[152] and laughed a little.
[153]
[154] "In that case it is far too sudden."
[155]
[156] "Who knows, Aunt Juley, who knows?"
[157]
[158] "But, Margaret dear, I mean we mustn't be unpractical
[159] now that we've come to facts. It is too sudden, surely."
[160]
[161] "Who knows!"
[162]
[163] "But Margaret dear--"
[164]
[165] "I'll go for her other letters," said Margaret. "No, I
[166] won't, I'll finish my breakfast. In fact, I haven't them.
[167] We met the Wilcoxes on an awful expedition that we made from
[168] Heidelberg to Speyer. Helen and I had got it into our heads
[169] that there was a grand old cathedral at Speyer--the
[170] Archbishop of Speyer was one of the seven electors--you
[171] know--'Speyer, Maintz, and Koln.' Those three sees once
[172] commanded the Rhine Valley and got it the name of Priest Street."
[173]
[174] "I still feel quite uneasy about this business, Margaret."
[175]
[176] "The train crossed by a bridge of boats, and at first
[177] sight it looked quite fine. But oh, in five minutes we had
[178] seen the whole thing. The cathedral had been ruined,
[179] absolutely ruined, by restoration; not an inch left of the
[180] original structure. We wasted a whole day, and came across
[181] the Wilcoxes as we were eating our sandwiches in the public
[182] gardens. They too, poor things, had been taken in--they
[183] were actually stopping at Speyer--and they rather liked
[184] Helen insisting that they must fly with us to Heidelberg.
[185] As a matter of fact, they did come on next day. We all took
[186] some drives together. They knew us well enough to ask Helen
[187] to come and see them--at least, I was asked too, but Tibby's
[188] illness prevented me, so last Monday she went alone. That's
[189] all. You know as much as I do now. It's a young man out
[190] the unknown. She was to have come back Saturday, but put
[191] off till Monday, perhaps on account of--I don't know.
[192]
[193] She broke off, and listened to the sounds of a London
[194] morning. Their house was in Wickham Place, and fairly
[195] quiet, for a lofty promontory of buildings separated it from
[196] the main thoroughfare. One had the sense of a backwater, or
[197] rather of an estuary, whose waters flowed in from the
[198] invisible sea, and ebbed into a profound silence while the
[199] waves without were still beating. Though the promontory
[200] consisted of flats--expensive, with cavernous entrance
[201] halls, full of concierges and palms--it fulfilled its
[202] purpose, and gained for the older houses opposite a certain
[203] measure of peace. These, too, would be swept away in time,
[204] and another promontory would rise upon their site, as
[205] humanity piled itself higher and higher on the precious soil
[206] of London.
[207]
[208] Mrs. Munt had her own method of interpreting her
[209] nieces. She decided that Margaret was a little hysterical,
[210] and was trying to gain time by a torrent of talk. Feeling
[211] very diplomatic, she lamented the fate of Speyer, and
[212] declared that never, never should she be so misguided as to
[213] visit it, and added of her own accord that the principles of
[214] restoration were ill understood in Germany. "The Germans,"
[215] she said, "are too thorough, and this is all very well
[216] sometimes, but at other times it does not do."
[217]
[218] "Exactly," said Margaret; "Germans are too thorough."
[219] And her eyes began to shine.
[220]
[221] "Of course I regard you Schlegels as English," said Mrs.
[222] Munt hastily--"English to the backbone."
[223]
[224] Margaret leaned forward and stroked her hand.
[225]
[226] "And that reminds me--Helen's letter--"
[227]
[228] "Oh, yes, Aunt Juley, I am thinking all right about
[229] Helen's letter. I know--I must go down and see her. I am
[230] thinking about her all right. I am meaning to go down"
[231]
[232] "But go with some plan," said Mrs. Munt, admitting into
[233] her kindly voice a note of exasperation. "Margaret, if I
[234] may interfere, don't be taken by surprise. What do you
[235] think of the Wilcoxes? Are they our sort? Are they likely
[236] people? Could they appreciate Helen, who is to my mind a
[237] very special sort of person? Do they care about Literature
[238] and Art? That is most important when you come to think of
[239] it. Literature and Art. Most important. How old would the
[240] son be? She says 'younger son.' Would he be in a position
[241] to marry? Is he likely to make Helen happy? Did you gather--"
[242]
[243] "I gathered nothing."
[244]
[245] They began to talk at once.
[246]
[247] "Then in that case--"
[248]
[249] "In that case I can make no plans, don't you see."
[250]
[251] "On the contrary--"
[252]
[253] "I hate plans. I hate lines of action. Helen isn't a baby."
[254]
[255] "Then in that case, my dear, why go down?"
[256]
[257] Margaret was silent. If her aunt could not see why she
[258] must go down, she was not going to tell her. She was not
[259] going to say "I love my dear sister; I must be near her at
[260] this crisis of her life." The affections are more reticent
[261] than the passions, and their expression more subtle. If she
[262] herself should ever fall in love with a man, she, like
[263] Helen, would proclaim it from the house-tops, but as she
[264] only loved a sister she used the voiceless language of sympathy.
[265]
[266] "I consider you odd girls," continued Mrs. Munt, "and
[267] very wonderful girls, and in many ways far older than your
[268] years. But--you won't be offended? --frankly I feel you are
[269] not up to this business. It requires an older person.
[270] Dear, I have nothing to call me back to Swanage." She spread
[271] out her plump arms. "I am all at your disposal. Let me go
[272] down to this house whose name I forget instead of you."
[273]
[274] "Aunt Juley"--she jumped up and kissed her--"I must,
[275] must go to Howards End myself. You don't exactly
[276] understand, though I can never thank you properly for offering."
[277]
[278] "I do understand," retorted Mrs. Munt, with immense
[279] confidence. "I go down in no spirit of interference, but to
[280] make inquiries. Inquiries are necessary. Now, I am going
[281] to be rude. You would say the wrong thing; to a certainty
[282] you would. In your anxiety for Helen's happiness you would
[283] offend the whole of these Wilcoxes by asking one of your
[284] impetuous questions--not that one minds offending them."
[285]
[286] "I shall ask no questions. I have it in Helen's writing
[287] that she and a man are in love. There is no question to ask
[288] as long as she keeps to that. All the rest isn't worth a
[289] straw. A long engagement if you like, but inquiries,
[290] questions, plans, lines of action--no, Aunt Juley, no."
[291]
[292] Away she hurried, not beautiful, not supremely
[293] brilliant, but filled with something that took the place of
[294] both qualities--something best described as a profound
[295] vivacity, a continual and sincere response to all that she
[296] encountered in her path through life.
[297]
[298] "If Helen had written the same to me about a
[299] shop-assistant or a penniless clerk--"
[300]
[301] "Dear Margaret, do come into the library and shut the
[302] door. Your good maids are dusting the banisters."
[303]
[304] "--or if she had wanted to marry the man who calls for
[305] Carter Paterson, I should have said the same." Then, with
[306] one of those turns that convinced her aunt that she was not
[307] mad really and convinced observers of another type that she
[308] was not a barren theorist, she added: "Though in the case of
[309] Carter Paterson I should want it to be a very long
[310] engagement indeed, I must say."
[311]
[312] "I should think so," said Mrs. Munt; "and, indeed, I can
[313] scarcely follow you. Now, just imagine if you said anything
[314] of that sort to the Wilcoxes. I understand it, but most
[315] good people would think you mad. Imagine how disconcerting
[316] for Helen! What is wanted is a person who will go slowly,
[317] slowly in this business, and see how things are and where
[318] they are likely to lead to."
[319]
[320] Margaret was down on this.
[321]
[322] "But you implied just now that the engagement must be
[323] broken off."
[324]
[325] "I think probably it must; but slowly."
[326]
[327] "Can you break an engagement off slowly?" Her eyes lit
[328] up. "What's an engagement made of, do you suppose? I think
[329] it's made of some hard stuff, that may snap, but can't
[330] break. It is different to the other ties of life. They
[331] stretch or bend. They admit of degree. They're different."
[332]
[333] "Exactly so. But won't you let me just run down to
[334] Howards House, and save you all the discomfort? I will
[335] really not interfere, but I do so thoroughly understand the
[336] kind of thing you Schlegels want that one quiet look round
[337] will be enough for me."
[338]
[339] Margaret again thanked her, again kissed her, and then
[340] ran upstairs to see her brother.
[341]
[342] He was not so well.
[343]
[344] The hay fever had worried him a good deal all night.
[345] His head ached, his eyes were wet, his mucous membrane, he
[346] informed her, was in a most unsatisfactory condition. The
[347] only thing that made life worth living was the thought of
[348] Walter Savage Landor, from whose IMAGINARY CONVERSATIONS she
[349] had promised to read at frequent intervals during the day.
[350]
[351] It was rather difficult. Something must be done about
[352] Helen. She must be assured that it is not a criminal
[353] offence to love at first sight. A telegram to this effect
[354] would be cold and cryptic, a personal visit seemed each
[355] moment more impossible. Now the doctor arrived, and said
[356] that Tibby was quite bad. Might it really be best to accept
[357] Aunt Juley's kind offer, and to send her down to Howards End
[358] with a note?
[359]
[360] Certainly Margaret was impulsive. She did swing rapidly
[361] from one decision to another. Running downstairs into the
[362] library, she cried--"Yes, I have changed my mind; I do wish
[363] that you would go."
[364]
[365] There was a train from King's Cross at eleven. At
[366] half-past ten Tibby, with rare self-effacement, fell asleep,
[367] and Margaret was able to drive her aunt to the station.
[368]
[369] "You will remember, Aunt Juley, not to be drawn into
[370] discussing the engagement. Give my letter to Helen, and say
[371] whatever you feel yourself, but do keep clear of the
[372] relatives. We have scarcely got their names straight yet,
[373] and besides, that sort of thing is so uncivilized and wrong.
[374]
[375] "So uncivilized?" queried Mrs. Munt, fearing that she
[376] was losing the point of some brilliant remark.
[377]
[378] "Oh, I used an affected word. I only meant would you
[379] please only talk the thing over with Helen."
[380]
[381] "Only with Helen."
[382]
[383] "Because--" But it was no moment to expound the personal
[384] nature of love. Even Margaret shrank from it, and contented
[385] herself with stroking her good aunt's hand, and with
[386] meditating, half sensibly and half poetically, on the
[387] journey that was about to begin from King's Cross.
[388]
[389] Like many others who have lived long in a great capital,
[390] she had strong feelings about the various railway termini.
[391] They are our gates to the glorious and the unknown. Through
[392] them we pass out into adventure and sunshine, to them alas!
[393] we return. In Paddington all Cornwall is latent and the
[394] remoter west; down the inclines of Liverpool Street lie
[395] fenlands and the illimitable Broads; Scotland is through the
[396] pylons of Euston; Wessex behind the poised chaos of
[397] Waterloo. Italians realize this, as is natural; those of
[398] them who are so unfortunate as to serve as waiters in Berlin
[399] call the Anhalt Bahnhof the Stazione d'Italia, because by it
[400] they must return to their homes. And he is a chilly
[401] Londoner who does not endow his stations with some
[402] personality, and extend to them, however shyly, the emotions
[403] of fear and love.
[404]
[405] To Margaret--I hope that it will not set the reader
[406] against her--the station of King's Cross had always
[407] suggested Infinity. Its very situation--withdrawn a little
[408] behind the facile splendours of St. Pancras--implied a
[409] comment on the materialism of life. Those two great arches,
[410] colourless, indifferent, shouldering between them an
[411] unlovely clock, were fit portals for some eternal adventure,
[412] whose issue might be prosperous, but would certainly not be
[413] expressed in the ordinary language of prosperity. If you
[414] think this ridiculous, remember that it is not Margaret who
[415] is telling you about it; and let me hasten to add that they
[416] were in plenty of time for the train; that Mrs. Munt, though
[417] she took a second-class ticket, was put by the guard into a
[418] first (only two seconds on the train, one smoking and the
[419] other babies--one cannot be expected to travel with babies);
[420] and that Margaret, on her return to Wickham Place, was
[421] confronted with the following telegram:
[422]
[423] ALL OVER. WISH I HAD NEVER WRITTEN. TELL NO ONE.
[424] --HELEN
[425]
[426] But Aunt Juley was gone--gone irrevocably, and no power
[427] on earth could stop her.
[428]
[429]
[430] Chapter 3
[431]
[432] Most complacently did Mrs. Munt rehearse her mission. Her
[433] nieces were independent young women, and it was not often
[434] that she was able to help them. Emily's daughters had never
[435] been quite like other girls. They had been left motherless
[436] when Tibby was born, when Helen was five and Margaret
[437] herself but thirteen. It was before the passing of the
[438] Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, so Mrs. Munt could without
[439] impropriety offer to go and keep house at Wickham Place.
[440] But her brother-in-law, who was peculiar and a German, had
[441] referred the question to Margaret, who with the crudity of
[442] youth had answered, "No, they could manage much better
[443] alone." Five years later Mr. Schlegel had died too, and Mrs.
[444] Munt had repeated her offer. Margaret, crude no longer, had
[445] been grateful and extremely nice, but the substance of her
[446] answer had been the same. "I must not interfere a third
[447] time," thought Mrs. Munt. However, of course she did. She
[448] learnt, to her horror, that Margaret, now of age, was taking
[449] her money out of the old safe investments and putting it
[450] into Foreign Things, which always smash. Silence would have
[451] been criminal. Her own fortune was invested in Home Rails,
[452] and most ardently did she beg her niece to imitate her.
[453] "Then we should be together, dear." Margaret, out of
[454] politeness, invested a few hundreds in the Nottingham and
[455] Derby Railway, and though the Foreign Things did admirably
[456] and the Nottingham and Derby declined with the steady
[457] dignity of which only Home Rails are capable, Mrs. Munt
[458] never ceased to rejoice, and to say, "I did manage that, at
[459] all events. When the smash comes poor Margaret will have a
[460] nest-egg to fall back upon." This year Helen came of age,
[461] and exactly the same thing happened in Helen's case; she
[462] also would shift her money out of Consols, but she, too,
[463] almost without being pressed, consecrated a fraction of it
[464] to the Nottingham and Derby Railway. So far so good, but in
[465] social matters their aunt had accomplished nothing. Sooner
[466] or later the girls would enter on the process known as
[467] throwing themselves away, and if they had delayed hitherto,
[468] it was only that they might throw themselves more vehemently
[469] in the future. They saw too many people at Wickham
[470] Place--unshaven musicians, an actress even, German cousins
[471] (one knows what foreigners are), acquaintances picked up at
[472] Continental hotels (one knows what they are too). It was
[473] interesting, and down at Swanage no one appreciated culture
[474] more than Mrs. Munt; but it was dangerous, and disaster was
[475] bound to come. How right she was, and how lucky to be on
[476] the spot when the disaster came!
[477]
[478] The train sped northward, under innumerable tunnels. It
[479] was only an hour's journey, but Mrs. Munt had to raise and
[480] lower the window again and again. She passed through the
[481] South Welwyn Tunnel, saw light for a moment, and entered the
[482] North Welwyn Tunnel, of tragic fame. She traversed the
[483] immense viaduct, whose arches span untroubled meadows and
[484] the dreamy flow of Tewin Water. She skirted the parks of
[485] politicians. At times the Great North Road accompanied her,
[486] more suggestive of infinity than any railway, awakening,
[487] after a nap of a hundred years, to such life as is conferred
[488] by the stench of motor-cars, and to such culture as is
[489] implied by the advertisements of antibilious pills. To
[490] history, to tragedy, to the past, to the future, Mrs. Munt
[491] remained equally indifferent; hers but to concentrate on the
[492] end of her journey, and to rescue poor Helen from this
[493] dreadful mess.
[494]
[495] The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of the
[496] large villages that are strung so frequently along the North
[497] Road, and that owe their size to the traffic of coaching and
[498] pre-coaching days. Being near London, it had not shared in
[499] the rural decay, and its long High Street had budded out
[500] right and left into residential estates. For about a mile a
[501] series of tiled and slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt's
[502] inattentive eyes, a series broken at one point by six Danish
[503] tumuli that stood shoulder to shoulder along the highroad,
[504] tombs of soldiers. Beyond these tumuli habitations
[505] thickened, and the train came to a standstill in a tangle
[506] that was almost a town.
[507]
[508] The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters,
[509] struck an indeterminate note. Into which country will it
[510] lead, England or Suburbia? It was new, it had island
[511] platforms and a subway, and the superficial comfort exacted
[512] by business men. But it held hints of local life, personal
[513] intercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was to discover.
[514]
[515] "I want a house," she confided to the ticket boy. "Its
[516] name is Howards Lodge. Do you know where it is?"
[517]
[518] "Mr. Wilcox!" the boy called.
[519]
[520] A young man in front of them turned round.
[521]
[522] "She's wanting Howards End."
[523]
[524] There was nothing for it but to go forward, though Mrs.
[525] Munt was too much agitated even to stare at the stranger.
[526] But remembering that there were two brothers, she had the
[527] sense to say to him, "Excuse me asking, but are you the
[528] younger Mr. Wilcox or the elder?"
[529]
[530] "The younger. Can I do anything for you?"
[531]
[532] "Oh, well"--she controlled herself with difficulty.
[533] "Really. Are you? I--" She moved away from the ticket boy
[534] and lowered her voice. "I am Miss Schlegels aunt. I ought
[535] to introduce myself, oughtn't I? My name is Mrs. Munt."
[536]
[537] She was conscious that he raised his cap and said quite
[538] coolly, "Oh, rather; Miss Schlegel is stopping with us. Did
[539] you want to see her?"
[540]
[541] "Possibly--"
[542]
[543] "I'll call you a cab. No; wait a mo--" He thought.
[544] "Our motor's here. I'll run you up in it."
[545]
[546] "That is very kind--"
[547]
[548] "Not at all, if you'll just wait till they bring out a
[549] parcel from the office. This way."
[550]
[551] "My niece is not with you by any chance?"
[552]
[553] "No; I came over with my father. He has gone on north
[554] in your train. You'll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You're
[555] coming up to lunch, I