|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 7
Chapter 2
Of Course Mrs. Arbuthnot was not miserable--how could she be, she
asked herself, when God was taking care of her?--but she let that pass
for the moment unrepudiated, because of her conviction that here was
another fellow-creature in urgent need of her help; and not just boots
and blankets and better sanitary arrangements this time, but the more
delicate help of comprehension, of finding the exact right words.
The exact right words, she presently discovered, after trying
various ones about living for others, and prayer, and the peace to be
found in placing oneself unreservedly in God's hands--to meet all these
words Mrs. Wilkins had other words, incoherent and yet, for the moment
at least, till one had had more time, difficult to answer--the exact
right words were a suggestion that it would do no harm to answer the
advertisement. Non-committal. Mere inquire. And what disturbed Mrs.
Arbuthnot about this suggestion was that she did not make it solely to
comfort Mrs. Wilkins; she made it because of her own strange longing
for the mediaeval castle.
This was very disturbing. There she was, accustomed to direct,
to lead, to advise, to support--except Frederick; she long since had
learned to leave Frederick to God--being led herself, being influenced
and thrown off her feet, by just an advertisement, by just an
incoherent stranger. It was indeed disturbing. She failed to
understand her sudden longing for what was, after all, self-indulgence,
when for years no such desire had entered her heart.
"There's no harm in simply asking," she said in a low voice, as
if the vicar and the Savings Bank and all her waiting and dependent
poor were listening and condemning.
"It isn't as if it committed us to anything," said Mrs. Wilkins,
also in a low voice, but her voice shook.
They got up simultaneously--Mrs. Arbuthnot had a sensation of surprise
that Mrs. Wilkins should be so tall--and went to a writing-table, and
Mrs. Arbuthnot wrote to Z, Box 1000, The Times, for particulars. She
asked for all particulars, but the only one they really wanted was the
one about the rent. They both felt that it was Mrs. Arbuthnot who
ought to write the letter and do the business part. Not only was she
used to organizing and being practical, but she also was older, and
certainly calmer; and she herself had no doubt too that she was wiser.
Neither had Mrs. Wilkins any doubt of this; the very way Mrs. Arbuthnot
parted her hair suggested a great calm that could only proceed from
wisdom.
But if she was wiser, older and calmer, Mrs. Arbuthnot's new
friend nevertheless seemed to her to be the one who impelled.
Incoherent, she yet impelled. She appeared to have, apart from her
need of help, an upsetting kind of character. She had a curious
infectiousness. She led one on. And the way her unsteady mind leaped
at conclusions--wrong ones, of course; witness the one that she, Mrs.
Arbuthnot, was miserable--the way she leaped at conclusions was
disconcerting.
Whatever she was, however, and whatever her unsteadiness, Mrs.
Arbuthnot found herself sharing her excitement and her longing; and
when the letter had been posted in the letter-box in the hall and
actually was beyond getting back again, both she and Mrs. Wilkins felt
the same sense of guilt.
"It only shows," said Mrs. Wilkins in a whisper, as they turned
away from the letter-box, "how immaculately good we've been all our
lives. The very first time we do anything our husbands don't know
about we feel guilty."
"I'm afraid I can't say I've been immaculately good," gently
protested Mrs. Arbuthnot, a little uncomfortable at this fresh example
of successful leaping at conclusions, for she had not said a word about
her feeling of guilt.
"Oh, but I'm sure you have--I see you being good--and that's why
you're not happy."
"She shouldn't say things like that," thought Mrs. Arbuthnot. "I
must try and help her not to."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|