More and more frequently he found himself receiving and accepting invitations to spend the week-end at Hogstead; and always when he announced his intention of going there he was aware of silent criticism on the part of his parents. He felt guilty and ashamed of himself for feeling guilty. It became a genuine struggle for him to pronounce the words at breakfast. It was like confessing a secret, and he hated it. Had he not a right to choose his friends? Then would come a reaction of acute self-accusation and he would improvise a treat, a theater or a picnic. His emotions would fling it like a sop to his conscience: “There, does that content you? Now may I go and live my own life?” Afterwards, of course, he was again bitterly ashamed of himself.
But always on the ebb-flow of his contrition came fear—the instinct of self-preservation, to save, at all costs, his individuality from the fate that threatened it. Whenever things seemed likely to reach a head, a European trip would intervene, and the whole business would have to begin again. An action that would ordinarily have completed its rhythm within three or four months was lengthened into three years; in the end inevitably the curve of the parabola was reached. The time was drawing near when Roland would have to make his decision one way or another.
He was by now earning a salary of four hundred pounds a year, and marriage—marriage as his parents understood it—was well within his means. Up till now, whenever any suggestion about the date of his marriage had been advanced, he referred to the uncertain nature of his work.
“I never know where I’m going to be from one week to another. Marriage is out of the question for a chap with a job like that.”
Their engagement was still unannounced. He had retained that loophole, though at the time it was not so that he had regarded it.
Ralph had asked him once whether he was engaged. And the question had put him on his guard. He didn’t like engagements. Love was a secret between two people. Why make it public? He must strike before the enemy struck. In other words, he must come to an agreement with April before her mother opened negotiations. That evening he had brought up the subject.
He was sitting in the window-seat, while she was on a stool beside him, her head resting against his knees and his hand stroking slowly her neck and hair and cheek.
“You know, darling,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about our engagement.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Well, are you awfully keen on an engagement?”