wrong. Only we cannot begin while we are so few. It is Those
Others."
"Precisely," said Widgery. "It is Those Others. They must begin
first."
"And
meanwhile you go on banking--"
"If I didn't, some one else would."
"And I live on Mr. Milton's Lotion while I try to gain a footing
in Literature."
"TRY!" said Phipps. "You HAVE done so." And, "That's different,"
said Dangle, at the same time.
"You are so kind to me. But in this matter. Of course Georgina
Griffiths in my book lived alone in a flat in Paris and went to
life classes and had men visitors, but then she was over
twenty-one."
"Jessica is only seventeen, and girlish for that," said Dangle.
"It alters everything. That child! It is different with a woman.
And Georgina Griffiths never flaunted her freedom-- on a bicycle,
in country places. In this country. Where every one is so
particular. Fancy, SLEEPING away from home. It's dreadful-- If it
gets about it spells ruin for her."
"Ruin," said Widgery.
"No man would marry a girl like that," said Phipps.
"It must be hushed up," said Dangle.
"It always seems to me that life is made up of individuals, of
individual cases. We must weigh each person against his or her
circumstances. General rules don't apply--"
"I often feel the force of that," said Widgery. "Those are my
rules. Of course my books--"
"It's different,
altogether different," said Dangle. "A novel
deals with
typical cases."
"And life is not
typical," said Widgery, with
immense profundity.
Then suddenly, unintentionally, being himself most surprised and
shocked of any in the room, Phipps yawned. The failing was
infectious, and the
gathering having, as you can easily
understand, talked itself weary, dispersed on
trivial pretences.
But not to sleep immediately. Directly Dangle was alone he began,
with
infinitedisgust, to scrutinise his darkling eye, for he was
a neat-minded little man in spite of his
energy. The whole
business--so near a capture--was
horribly vexatious. Phipps sat
on his bed for some time examining, with equal
disgust, a
collarhe would have thought
incredible for Sunday twenty-four hours
before. Mrs. Milton fell a-musing on the
mortality of even big,
fat men with dog-like eyes, and Widgery was
unhappy because he
had been so cross to her at the station, and because so far he
did not feel that he had scored over Dangle. Also he was angry
with Dangle. And all four of them, being souls living very much
upon the appearances of things, had a
painful,
mental middle
distance of Botley derisive and
suspicious, and a remoter
background of London
humorous, and Surbiton
speculative. Were
they really, after all, behaving absurdly?
MR. HOOPDRIVER, KNIGHT ERRANT
XXXII
As Mr. Dangle bad witnessed, the fugitives had been left by him
by the side of the road about two miles from Botley. Before Mr.
Dangle's appearance, Mr. Hoopdriver had been
learning with great
interest that mere
roadside flowers had names,--star-flowers,
wind-stars, St. John's wort,
willow herb, lords and ladies,
bachelor's buttons,--most curious names, some of them. "The
flowers are all different in South Africa, y'know," he was
explaining with a happy fluke of his
imagination to
account for
his
ignorance. Then suddenly, heralded by
clattering sounds and a
gride of wheels, Dangle had flared and thundered across the
tranquillity of the summer evening; Dangle, swaying and
gesticulating behind a corybantic black horse, had hailed Jessie
by her name, had backed towards the hedge for no ostensible
reason, and vanished to the
accomplishment of the Fate that had
been written down for him from the very
beginning of things.
Jessie and Hoopdriver had scarcely time to stand up and seize
their machines, before this tumultuous, this swift and wonderful
passing of Dangle was achieved. He went from side to side of the
road,--worse even than the riding forth of Mr. Hoopdriver it was,