第6章

"From our hotel," whispered Anna; and, ordering red wine and schnitzels, she and the boy sat down.The lady who seemed in command of the English party inquired now how Mr.Stormer was--he was not laid up, she hoped.No? Only lazy? Indeed! He was a great climber, she believed.It seemed to the boy that this lady somehow did not quite approve of them.The talk was all maintained between her, a gentleman with a crumpled collar and puggaree, and a short thick-set grey-bearded man in a dark Norfolk jacket.If any of the younger members of the party spoke, the remark was received with an arch lifting of the brows, and drooping of the lids, as who should say: "Ah! Very promising!""Nothing in my life has given me greater pain than to observe the aptitude of human nature for becoming crystallized." It was the lady in command who spoke, and all the young people swayed their faces up and down, as if assenting.How like they were, the boy thought, to guinea-fowl, with their small heads and sloping shoulders and speckly grey coats!

"Ah! my dear lady"--it was the gentleman with the crumpled collar--"you novelists are always girding at the precious quality of conformity.The sadness of our times lies in this questioning spirit.Never was there more revolt, especially among the young.

To find the individual judging for himself is a grave symptom of national degeneration.But this is not a subject--""Surely, the subject is of the most poignant interest to all young people." Again all the young ones raised their faces and moved them slightly from side to side.

"My dear lady, we are too prone to let the interest that things arouse blind our judgment in regard to the advisability of discussing them.We let these speculations creep and creep until they twine themselves round our faith and paralyze it."One of the young men interjected suddenly: "Madre"--and was silent.

"I shall not, I think"--it was the lady speaking--"be accused of licence when I say that I have always felt that speculation is only dangerous when indulged in by the crude intelligence.If culture has nothing to give us, then let us have no culture; but if culture be, as I think it, indispensable, then we must accept the dangers that culture brings."Again the young people moved their faces, and again the younger of the two young men said: "Madre--""Dangers? Have cultured people dangers?"Who had spoken thus? Every eyebrow was going up, every mouth was drooping, and there was silence.The boy stared at his companion.

In what a strange voice she had made that little interjection!

There seemed a sort of flame, too, lighted in her eyes.Then the little grey-bearded man said, and his rather whispering voice sounded hard and acid:

"We are all human, my dear madam."

The boy felt his heart go thump at Anna's laugh.It was just as if she had said: "Ah! but not you--surely!" And he got up to follow her towards the door.

The English party had begun already talking--of the weather.

The two walked some way from the 'hut' in silence, before Anna said:

"You didn't like me when I laughed?"

"You hurt their feelings, I think."

"I wanted to--the English Grundys! Ah! don't be cross with me!

They WERE English Grundys, weren't they--every one?"She looked into his face so hard, that he felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and a dizzy sensation of being drawn forward.

"They have no blood, those people! Their voices, their supercilious eyes that look you up and down! Oh! I've had so much of them! That woman with her Liberalism, just as bad as any.Ihate them all!"

He would have liked to hate them, too, since she did; but they had only seemed to him amusing.

"They aren't human.They don't FEEL! Some day you'll know them.

They won't amuse you then!"

She went on, in a quiet, almost dreamy voice:

"Why do they come here? It's still young and warm and good out here.Why don't they keep to their Culture, where no one knows what it is to ache and feel hunger, and hearts don't beat.Feel!"Disturbed beyond measure, the boy could not tell whether it was in her heart or in his hand that the blood was pulsing so.Was he glad or sorry when she let his hand go?

"Ah, well! They can't spoil this day.Let's rest."At the edge of the larch-wood where they sat, were growing numbers of little mountain pinks, with fringed edges and the sweetest scent imaginable; and she got up presently to gather them.But he stayed where he was, and odd sensations stirred in him.The blue of the sky, the feathery green of the larch-trees, the mountains, were no longer to him what they had been early that morning.

She came back with her hands full of the little pinks, spread her fingers and let them drop.They showered all over his face and neck.Never was so wonderful a scent; never such a strange feeling as they gave him.They clung to his hair, his forehead, his eyes, one even got caught on the curve of his lips; and he stared up at her through their fringed petals.There must have been something wild in his eyes then, something of the feeling that was stinging his heart, for her smile died; she walked away, and stood with her face turned from him.Confused, and unhappy, he gathered the strewn flowers; and not till he had collected every one did he get up and shyly take them to her, where she still stood, gazing into the depths of the larch-wood.