V
I have been back twice to Yearsly since Cousin Delia left.
Guy has asked me to go oftener, and Diana is kind and friendly, but I do not think she would like it if I were to go there often. That is quite natural; I should not fit in with her friends.
But, she says:
‘Come when you like . . . just send a P.C. and turn up!’
And I say:
‘Thank you, Dinah, that’s awfully good of you!’
But I know she wouldn’t like it if I did, and I think she knows that I know, and anyhow, apart from that, I should not want to go often.
It is all so different now, and I loved it as it was. I suppose it is growing old that makes one dislike changes. Diana has changed a great many things, just as she said she would.
The house looks smarter now; there is new paint and new wall-paper. It is not exactly ugly, for Diana has a taste of her own, and I think she has taken trouble to make it just as she likes. The old brocade has gone, but the curtains are not striped; they are of a brilliant cretonne, with very big, pink flowers, and the paint inside, is yellow, bright yellow like mustard. Diana says it is the latest thing, pink-curtains and yellow paint; she says that every one is having that now.
She has put chairs in the hall, big leather chairs and tables; she calls it a lounge hall, and they sit in there a great deal, and smoke. Diana is always smoking, and all her friends smoke too. They sit on the little tables, as a rule, instead of the chairs. And there is a very big gramophone; I think it is the biggest gramophone I have seen. Diana’s friends are all very well dressed, and most of them paint their faces; Diana does not paint; her own colour is too lovely to need it; I think she grows more lovely every time I see her.
She has five children now; three girls and two boys. She is nicest with her children; she romps with them like a big tiger with cubs.
The eldest boy is called Hugo. He is not at all like our Hugo. Diana thinks he is, but she never saw him. She says that the people round all say that he is; they would say that, of course, because he has the same name. He has dark eyes, that is true, but not the least like Hugo’s. He is just like Diana, and his eyes are like her eyes. He is a splendid child, big and strong and merry. He laughs and fights his brother and sisters, and he is always running. He breaks things and does not mind, he hurts people and isn’t sorry. It sounds strange to me to hear them call him Hugo.
They are all fine children, all strong and well and cheerful. The house is full of noise, laughing and screaming and scuffling. I am glad there are children at Yearsly. There are five of them, and there were only three of us. I am glad they are there and yet it is almost more different than if they were not. They live so differently from the way we used to live, and they never play in the wood at all. But I think sometimes, that they are better fitted for life than we were. I think they are tougher than we were, and less illusioned.
One of the children, the second girl, is unlike the others; she is only five now, hardly more than a baby, but she is much gentler than the rest and more devoted to Guy. I think that she will be a help to Guy some day, and he, perhaps, to her, when she grows up, and I sometimes wish that I could see more of that little girl.
They have put in central heating, and electric light. It is more like an hotel now, and less like a loved house, but it is very comfortable, and there are two new bathrooms, white-tiled, like the bathroom I used to want.
Old Joseph is still there, I think Guy has insisted on keeping him, but Mathew is pensioned off, for there are no more horses now. There are two motor-cars, one big, and one smaller, and a very smart chauffeur, called Septimus Ward. Jayne, the butler, died soon after Cousin John, and there is a smart new butler, quite different from Jayne.
There are lots of little dogs, Pekingese, with bows, but no big dogs. Diana plays games a good deal, but she never goes for walks. She has her own car, the smaller of the two. It is a ‘Sports model Lancia,’ painted red, like a pillar-box, and she does speed tests, and hill trials, in a fur cap with long ear-pieces. She has a red leather coat, with fur up round her throat, and very big fur gauntlets, right up to her elbows. She always goes about in her car, even into the village. There is only room for two, and she sometimes takes one of the children. She has a very loud horn, and she blows it a great deal.
I think she enjoys her life; she is often laughing. When she is annoyed, she is cross and sulks, like a child. She makes scenes with Guy, in public, and doesn’t mind who hears. At first, I minded that very much, I was so sorry for Guy, but it doesn’t seem to matter, it is just like a child in a temper; she forgets all she has said, and every one has to forget, and they do, apparently, and it all goes on as before.
They have made a racquets court out of part of the old stable. Diana plays racquets well, and Guy can still play a bit.
Guy is still in business. He goes up to the city every morning, and comes back in the evening. I think he must be quite rich; they seem rich, when one is there.
I think Guy is happy; it is very hard to know. He walks about with a stick, and his hair is quite grey; he looks older than he is, and he is now forty-four. I wonder very often what he thinks about it all; but of course he does not tell me, and of course I do not ask.
The trees have been thinned out, and many have been cut down. There are none close up to the wall of the house now, as there used to be, and the branches would not tap now on the window-pane of my window if I slept in my old room; but Diana’s maid sleeps there now, and I dare say she likes it better without the trees.
The first time I went back, they had not touched the wood, but the last time that I went, the Happy Tree had gone. I went up in the wood as soon as I got there, and looked for the Happy Tree, and I could not believe it had gone. It gave me an odd feeling, as though I must be asleep, and I walked all about, to try and find where it was, and there was the place where it used to be, and just a big stump was there.
And I found Guy walking about, with his stick, in front of the house.
And I said:
‘Oh Guy . . . the tree . . . you know, the Happy Tree. . . .’
And Guy looked at me so queerly, for a moment, with his face screwed up, and I was not sure at first, if he was angry. . . .
And then he said:
‘Yes. It was cut down while I was away, last autumn. Dinah had it done. She did not know, of course, that it was a special tree.’
And I said:
‘No, of course not . . . she could not have known.’
And I thought:
‘He had not told her that!’
We did not talk about it. We just walked up and down, and Guy talked about his children, and I talked about mine.
The seats in front of the house were all painted bright green. They were painted every year, and the paths were always raked.
It is right to rake gravel paths, and to keep the edges trimmed. It ought to look much nicer, but I don’t think it does, somehow.