He joined her and they walked silently round the side of the house, through the kitchen yard and out into the deserted carriage drive. She thought she saw people on the front lawn and walked quickly, humming a little tune, on down the drive.
Max crunched silently along a little apart from her, singing to himself.
18
Both sides of the front gate were bolted back and their footsteps carried them straight out on to the asphalted avenue extending right and left, a dim tunnel of greenery, scarcely lit by the lamps out in the roadway. With a sudden sense of daring, Miriam determined to assume the deserted avenue as part of the garden.
The gate left behind, they made their way slowly along the high leafy tunnel.
They would walk to the end of the long avenue and back again. In a moment she would cease humming and make a remark. She tasted a new sense of ease, walking slowly along with this strange man without “making conversation.” He was taking her silence for granted. All her experience so far had been of companions whose uneasiness pressed unendurably for speech, and her talking had been done with an irritated sense of the injustice of aspersions on “women’s tongues,” while no man could endure a woman’s silence ... even Ted, except when dancing; no woman could, except Minna, in Germany. Max must be foreign, of course, German—of course. She could, if she liked, talk of the stars to him. He would neither make jokes nor talk science and want her to admire him, until all the magic was gone. Her mood expanded. He had come just at the right moment. She would keep him with her until she had to face Ted. He was like a big ship towing the little barque of her life to its harbour.
His vague humming rose to a little song. It was German. It was the Lorelei. For a moment she forgot everything but pride in her ability to take her share in both music and words.
“You understand German!” he cried.
They had reached the end of the avenue and the starlit roadway opened ahead, lined with meadows.
“Ach, wie schön,” breathed Max.