Encounters: stories by Elizabeth Bowen, Robarts - University of Toronto Page B

necessary for her to think for herself. She need never dictate—except, of course, to servants, and there she's backed by her husband's authority. All women wish to marry."
    Richard and Cicely listened respectfully.
    "A true woman,"continued Herbert, warming to his subject,"loves to cling."

    "But she mustn't cling heavily, must she?"asked Cicely.
    "She clings not only to her husband but in a lesser degree to her household and"—he coughed slightly—"children. Her sphere"
    "—Is the home,"said Richard quickly."But suppose she hasn't got a home?"
    She may now hope till a quite advanced age to obtain a home by matrimony. If she cannot she must look for work. It is always possible for an unmarried woman to make herself useful if she is willing and"—he considered carefully—"bright."
    "Do you like women to be bright?"asked Cicely eagerly.
    "It depends,"said Herbert guardedly. He had hated Cicely when she was skittish; it had sat grotesquely upon her as a spinster, though now that she was married a little matronly playfulness did not ill become her."Doris is bright, bright and equable."
    Remembering with resentment how uncomfortable Cicely had sometimes made him, he raised his voice a little."She has no moods. She has simple tastes. She is always very bright and equable,"

    "So you really suit each other very well,"summarised Richard, twirling on the music-stool."Appreciation is everything to a woman. I congratulate her."
    "Yes,"said Herbert simply."But you should congratulate me —it is more usual, I think. But we are past all that now; dear me, how many letters there were to answer! And now there are the presents to acknowledge. A very handsome inkstand and a pair of vases came this morning. And in another three weeks we shall be at Folkestone!"...
    His sister and brother-in-law were so silent that he thought they must have gone to sleep. They were an erratic couple; matrimony seemed to have made them stupid. Richard sat biting his moustache and staring at Cicely, who, with bent head, absently smoothed out creases in the tablecloth. One might almost have said they were waiting for him to go. It was curious how little of this he had suspected in Cicely, although she was his sister. In the evenings he knew that Richard and she read poetry together, and not improbably kissed; through 127

    the folding doors he could hear their cold supper being laid out in the dining-room. How could he have guessed that something inside her had been clamouring for these preposterous evenings all her life? She had seemed so contented, sewing by the lamp while he smoked and read the paper and Poor Mother dozed.
    It was wasting pity to be sorry for them; he turned from his anaemic relations to review his long perspective of upholstered happiness with Doris. One might almost say that the upholstery was Doris. Herbert, feeling his heart grow great within him, could have written a testimonial to all the merchants of Romance. Having given love a trial he had found it excellent, and was prepared to recommend it personally, almost to offer a guarantee. Dear Doris would be waiting for him this evening; demure, responsive, decently elated; he was going to visit at her home. This intention he communicated to Richard and Cicely, who rose in vague and badly-feigned distress. Herbert had said nothing about going, as it happened, but since they had so understood 128

    him—well, they were scarcely entertaining; he had been there long enough.
    They saw him to the gate and stood together under the laburnum tree, watching him down the road. Richard's arm crept round Cicely's shoulders."But this, ah God, is love!"he quoted.
    And Herbert had forgotten them before he reached the corner.

MRS. WINDERMERE
    IN the doorway of Fullers', Regent Street, they came face to face. Mrs. Windermere grasped both Esmee's wrists, drew them towards her bosom, and cried in her deep tremolo, "My dear I"
    Esmee had not imagined Mrs. Windermere out of Italy. She had never pictured