The Relentless City. Эдвард БенсонЧитать онлайн книгу.
too, because meaningless conversation is utterly in harmony with Sabbath stillness. It completes the sense of repose. It is no tax on the brain. Besides, I do really know what I was talking about; I said I didn't because I don't like arguing.'
'You have been doing nothing else.'
'No. I have been reeling out strings of assertions, which Sybil has languidly contradicted from time to time. You can't call that argument. Look! there's Charlie. Why didn't you marry him, Sybil, and stop in England? Who is that with him? Oh, Judy, isn't it? Are they coming here? What a bore!'
Charlie and Judy strolled across the lawn towards them with extreme slowness. To walk across a lawn for tea and walk back again afterwards was the utmost exercise that Judy ever took.
'I am taking my walk,' she observed as she got near them. 'I am now exactly half way, so I shall rest. Sybil, you look as if you were resting too.'
'We are all resting, and we are making the most of it, because Ginger tells us we shall never rest again.'
'Do you want a chair, Judy?' asked Ginger.
Bertie got up.
'Sit there,' he said.
'I am rather tired,' said Judy; 'but pray don't let me turn you out.' And she sat down.
'I'm so glad your father's party broke down,' she went on to Bertie. 'It is so very much nicer to have nobody here, except just ourselves, who needn't make any efforts.'
Ginger gently applauded, his face still hidden by his straw hat.
'The voice of my country,' he remarked.
'Ah, somebody agrees with you,' said Sybil; 'so you are wrong. I am glad; I was beginning to be afraid you were right.'
'Has Ginger been sparkling?' asked Judy.
'Yes, sparkling Ginger-beer. Very tasty,' remarked Ginger fatuously. 'They swallowed it all. If you only talk enough, some of it is sure to be swallowed—not to stick. But it's finished now.'
Charlie had sat down on the bank beside Sybil's couch.
'This is the last Sunday, then,' he said; 'you go to Scotland next week, don't you?'
'Yes,' said she—' just for a fortnight. Then Aix with Judy, and I sail on September 1st.'
'That is earlier than you planned originally.'
'I know; but we get a big boat instead of a small one. I thought it worth while.'
'Do you feel inclined to stroll a bit till tea?'
'By all means.'
'They are going to desecrate the Sabbath stillness by strolling,' remarked Ginger. 'It ought not to be allowed, like public-houses.'
'Ah, we are genuine travellers,' said Sybil. 'Come, too, Ginger.'
'Do I look like it?'
'No; but one never knows with you. Judy dear, would not a good brisk walk do you good?'
'I shouldn't wonder,' said Judy; 'but I shall never know.'
Sybil put up her parasol.
'Come, Charlie,' she said.
They walked off together in the shadow of the big elm avenue that led down to the village. The huge boskage of the trees allowed no inter-penetrating ray of sun to reach them, and in the silence and sleep of the hot summer afternoon they seemed to Charlie to be very specially alone. This feeling was emphasized, no doubt, to his mind by the refusal of the others to accompany them.
'Really, Gallio always succeeds in making himself comfortable,' said she. 'What more can anyone want than a charming house like this? It is so absurd to desire more than you can use. It is a mistake the whole world makes, except, perhaps, Judy.'
'I don't think Ginger does,' said Charlie.
'Oh yes; he desires, at least, to say more than he means. Consequently people attach no importance to what he says.'
Charlie laughed.
'Which, being interpreted, means that Ginger has been saying something which you are afraid is correct.'
Sybil Massington stopped.
'Charlie, for a man you have a good deal of intuition. That is partly what makes me never think of you as a man. You are so like a woman in many ways.'
'I am wanting to have a last word.'
'Last word! What last word?'
'A last word with you, Sybil,' he said; 'I shall never bother you again.'
'Dear Charlie, it is no use. Please don't!' she said.
'I am sorry to disobey you,' said he; 'but I mean to. It is quite short—just this: if ever you change your mind, you will find me waiting for you. That is all.'
Sybil frowned.
'I can't accept that,' she said. 'You have no business to put the responsibility on me like that.'
'There is no responsibility.'
'Yes, there is; you practically threaten me. It is like writing a letter to say you will commit suicide unless I do something. You threaten, anyhow, to commit celibacy unless I marry you.'
'No, I don't threaten,' said he; 'so far from threatening, I only leave the door open in case of Hope wanting to come in. That is badly expressed; a woman would have said it better.'
Sybil was suddenly touched by his gentleness.
'No one could have said it better,' she said. 'Charlie, believe me, I am sorry, but—here is the truth of it: I don't believe I can love anybody. This also: if I did not like you so much, I think I would marry you.'
'Ah, spare me that,' he said.
'I do spare it you. I will not willingly make you very unhappy. Do you believe that?'
He stopped, and came close to her.
'Sybil, if you pointed to the sky and said it was night, I should believe you,' he said.
She made no reply to that, and they walked on in silence. Everywhere over the broad expanse of swelling downs, looking huge behind the heat-haze, and over the green restfulness of the water-meadows beneath them, even over the blue immensity of the sky, there was spread a sense of quiet and leisure. To Sybil, thinking of the after-lunch conversation, it seemed of value; to her at the moment this contented security was a big factor in life. Economically, no doubt, she was wrong; a score of dynamos utilizing the waste power of the streams below that so hurryingly sought the sea would have contributed much to the utility of the scene, and the noble timber which surrounded them could certainly have been far better employed in some factory than to have merely formed a most wasteful handle, as it were, for the great parasol of leaves which screened them and the idle, cud-chewing cattle. Here, as always, there was that silent deadly war going on between utility and beauty; soon, without a doubt, in a score of years, or a score of days, or a score of centuries, principles of economy would prevail, and the world of men would live in cast-iron mood in extremely sanitary cast-iron dwellings. Already, it seemed to her, the death-knell of beauty was vibrating in the air. The rural heart of the country was bleeding into the towns; instead of beating the swords into sickles, the way of the world now was to beat the elm-trees into faggots and the rivers into electric light. For the faggots would give warmth and the electricity would give light; these things were useful. And in the distance, like a cuttle-fish with tentacles waving and growing every moment nearer, New York, and all that New York stood for, was sucking in whatever came within its reach. She was already sucked in.
All this passed very quickly through her mind, for it seemed to her that there had been no appreciable pause when Charlie spoke again.
'Yes, the world is going westwards,' he said. 'I heard a few days ago that Mrs. Emsworth was going to act in New York this autumn. Is it true?'
'I believe so. Why?'
'Mere curiosity. Is she going on her own?'