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Page 4
by E. M. Forster
Chapter 1
They were all at Charing Cross to see Lilia off--Philip,
Harriet, Irma, Mrs. Herriton herself. Even Mrs. Theobald,
squired by Mr. Kingcroft, had braved the journey from
Yorkshire to bid her only daughter good-bye. Miss Abbott
was likewise attended by numerous relatives, and the sight
of so many people talking at once and saying such different
things caused Lilia to break into ungovernable peals of laughter.
"Quite an ovation," she cried, sprawling out of her
first-class carriage. "They'll take us for royalty. Oh,
Mr. Kingcroft, get us foot-warmers."
The good-natured young man hurried away, and Philip,
taking his place, flooded her with a final stream of advice
and injunctions--where to stop, how to learn Italian, when to
use mosquito-nets, what pictures to look at. "Remember," he
concluded, "that it is only by going off the track that you
get to know the country. See the little towns--Gubbio,
Pienza, Cortona, San Gemignano, Monteriano. And don't, let
me beg you, go with that awful tourist idea that Italy's
only a museum of antiquities and art. Love and understand
the Italians, for the people are more marvellous than the land."
"How I wish you were coming, Philip," she said,
flattered at the unwonted notice her brother-in-law was
giving her.
"I wish I were." He could have managed it without great
difficulty, for his career at the Bar was not so intense as
to prevent occasional holidays. But his family disliked his
continual visits to the Continent, and he himself often
found pleasure in the idea that he was too busy to leave town.
"Good-bye, dear every one. What a whirl!" She caught
sight of her little daughter Irma, and felt that a touch of
maternal solemnity was required. "Good-bye, darling. Mind
you're always good, and do what Granny tells you."
She referred not to her own mother, but to her
mother-in-law, Mrs. Herriton, who hated the title of Granny.
Irma lifted a serious face to be kissed, and said
cautiously, "I'll do my best."
"She is sure to be good," said Mrs. Herriton, who was
standing pensively a little out of the hubbub. But Lilia
was already calling to Miss Abbott, a tall, grave, rather
nice-looking young lady who was conducting her adieus in a
more decorous manner on the platform.
"Caroline, my Caroline! Jump in, or your chaperon will
go off without you."
And Philip, whom the idea of Italy always intoxicated,
had started again, telling her of the supreme moments of her
coming journey--the Campanile of Airolo, which would burst on
her when she emerged from the St. Gothard tunnel, presaging
the future; the view of the Ticino and Lago Maggiore as the
train climbed the slopes of Monte Cenere; the view of
Lugano, the view of Como--Italy gathering thick around her
now--the arrival at her first resting-place, when, after long
driving through dark and dirty streets, she should at last
behold, amid the roar of trams and the glare of arc lamps,
the buttresses of the cathedral of Milan.
"Handkerchiefs and collars," screamed Harriet, "in my
inlaid box! I've lent you my inlaid box."
"Good old Harry!" She kissed every one again, and there
was a moment's silence. They all smiled steadily, excepting
Philip, who was choking in the fog, and old Mrs. Theobald,
who had begun to cry. Miss Abbott got into the carriage.
The guard himself shut the door, and told Lilia that she
would be all right. Then the train moved, and they all
moved with it a couple of steps, and waved their
handkerchiefs, and uttered cheerful little cries. At that
moment Mr. Kingcroft reappeared, carrying a footwarmer by
both ends, as if it was a tea-tray. He was sorry that he
was too late, and called out in a quivering voice,
"Good-bye, Mrs. Charles. May you enjoy yourself, and may
God bless you."
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