The crash came on a Sunday in spring—exquisite weather. They sat round the breakfast table, in mourning because of Grandpa, but otherwise worldly. Besides his mother and sisters, there was impossible Aunt Ida, who lived with them now, and a Miss Tonks, a friend whom Kitty had made at the Domestic Institute, and who indeed seemed its only tan-gible product. Between Ada and himself stood an empty chair.
Oh, Mr Durham's engaged to be married," cried Mrs Hall, who was reading a letter. "How friendly of his mother to tell me. Penge, a county estate," she explained to Miss Tonks.
That won't impress Violet, mother. She's a socialist.
Am I, Kitty? Good news.
You mean bad news, Miss Tonks," said Aunt Ida.
Mother, who toom
You will say 'Who toom' as a joke too often.
Oh mother, get on, who is she?" asked Ada, having stifled a regret.
Lady Anne Woods. You can read the letter for yourselves. He met her in Greece. Lady Anne Woods. Daughter of Sir H. Woods.
There was an outcry amongst the well-informed. It was sub-sequently found that Mrs Durham's sentence ran, "I will now tell you the name of the lady: Anne Woods: daughter of Sir H.
Woods." But even then it was remarkable, and owing to Greece romantic.
Maurice!" said his aunt across the hubbub.
Hullo!" .
That boy's late.
Leaning back in his chair he shouted "Dickie!" at the ceiling: they were putting up Dr Barry's young nephew for the week-end, to oblige.
He doesn't even sleep above, so that's no good," said Kitty. 111 go up.
He smoked half a cigarette in the garden and returned. The news had nearly upset him after all. It had come so brutally, and —what hurt him as much—no one behaved as if it were his concern. Nor was it. Mrs Durham and his mother were the prin-cipals now. Their friendship had survived the heroic.
He was thinking, "Clive might have written: for the sake of the past he might", when his aunt interrupted him. "That boy's never come," she complained.
He rose with a smile. "My fault. I forgot.
Forgot!" Everyone concentrated on him. "Forgot when you went out specially? Oh Morrie, you are a funny boy." He left the room, pursued by humorous scorn, and almost forgot again. "In there's my work," he thought, and a deadly lassitude fell on him.
He went upstairs with the tread of an older man, and drew breath at the top. He stretched his arms wide. The morning was exquisite—made for others: for them the leaves rustled and the sun poured into the house. He banged at Dickie Barry's door, and, as that seemed no use, opened it.
The boy, who had been to a dance the night before, remained asleep. He lay with his limbs uncovered. He lay unashamed, embraced and penetrated by the sun. The lips were parted, the down on the upper was touched with gold, the hair broken into
countless glories, the body was a delicate amber. To anyone he would have seemed beautiful, and to Maurice who reached him by two paths he became die World's desire.
It's past nine," he said as soon as he could speak.
Dickie groaned and pulled up the bedclothes to his chin.
Breakfast—wake up.
How long have you been here?" he asked, opening his eyes, which were all of him that was now visible, and gazing into Maurice's.
A little," he said, after a pause.
I'm awfully sorry.
You can be as late as you like—it's only I didn't want you to miss the jolly day.
Downstairs they were revelling in snobbery. Kitty asked him whether he had known about Miss Woods. He answered "Yes" —a lie that marked an epoch. Then his aunt's voice arrived, was that boy never coming
I told him not to hurry," said Maurice, trembling all over.
Maurice, you're not very practical, dear," said Mrs Hall.
He's on a visit.
Auntie remarked that the first duty of a visitor was to conform to the rules of the house. Hitherto he had never opposed her, but now he said, "The rule of this house is that everyone does what they like.
Breakfast is at half past eight.
For those who like. Those who are sleepy like breakfast at nine or ten.
No house could go on, Maurice. No servants would stop, as you will find.
I'd rather servants went than my guests were treated like schoolboys.
A schoolboy! Haw! Heis one
Mr Barry's now at Woolwich," said Maurice shortly.
Aunt Ida snorted, but Miss Tonks shot him a glance of re-spect. The others had not listened, intent on poor Mrs Durham, who would now only have the dower house. The loss of his tem-per left him very happy. In a few minutes Dickie joined them, and he rose to greet his god. The boy's hair was now flat from the bath, and his graceful body hidden beneath clothes, but he remained extraordinarily beautiful. There was a freshness about him—he might have arrived with the flowers—and he gave the impression of modesty and of good will. When he apologized to Mrs Hall, the note of his voice made Maurice shiver. And this was the child he wouldn't protect at Sunnington! This the guest whose arrival last night he had felt rather a bore.
So strong was the passion, while it lasted, that he believed the crisis of his life had come. He broke all engagements, as in the old days. After breakfast he saw Dickie to his uncle's, got arm in arm with him, and exacted a promise for tea. It was kept. Maurice abandoned himself to joy. His blood heated. He would not attend to the talk, yet even this advantaged him, for when he said "What?" Dickie came over to the sofa. He passed an arm round him.... The entrance of Aunt Ida may have averted dis-aster, yet he thought he saw response in the candid eyes.
They met once more—at midnight. Maurice was not happy now, for during the hours of waiting his emotion had become physical.
I'd a latch key," said Dickie, surprised at finding his host up.
I know.
There was a pause. Both uneasy, they were glancing at each other and afraid to meet a glance.
Is it a cold night out
No.
Can I get you anything before I go up
No, thanks.
Maurice went to the switches and turned on the landing light. Then he turned out the lights in the hall and sprang after Dickie, overtaking him noiselessly.
This is my room," he whispered."Imean generally. They've turned me out for you." He added, "I sleep here alone." He was conscious that words were escaping him. Having removed Dickie's overcoat he stood holding it, saying nothing. The house was so quiet that they could hear the women breathing in the other rooms.
The boy said nothing either. The varieties of development are endless, and it so happened that he understood the situation perfectly. If Hall insisted, he would not kick up a row, but he had rather not: he felt like that about it.
I'm above," panted Maurice, not daring. "In the attic over this—if you want anything—all night alone. I always am.
Dickie's impulse was to bolt the door after him, but he dis-missed it as unsoldierly, and awoke to the ringing of the break-fast bell, with the sun on his face and his mind washed clean.
H