"Then, why are you going back to London and leaving us?"
I looked all round the garden and, upon my soul, for the moment I wondered why the deuce I was doing it myself. There was the arabis in blossom, the deep purple tulips, with strong, straight shafts of green, were standing in their rows in orderly array, as though a Roman emperor were passing down their lines. The faint breath of a wandering breeze just caught them and, as they bowed, I heard the sound of distant music in the emperor's train. But that was only fancy, and it was not for a fancy alone that I marvelled at myself or wondered how I could bring myself to leave it. These was the whole breadth and length of the sea, the whole vast arena of the sky, the great sweep of the cliffs, which no line of purple tulips could compass, with which no snow of arabis could compare. And for the cramped spaces in a city, no matter how immense, I was going to leave it all—all consciousness of freedom, all remembrance of my heritage of life—just that I might pursue that bitter pleasure of forgetfulness.
"Don't ask me," said I. "I suppose when they say that you hear London calling to you there's something in it. It has a voice—you can't deny it."
"Yes—and who was it who didn't put wax in his ears, but got his men to tie him up so he could hear the women singing?"
"It was Ulysses," said I; "but it doesn't apply in my case. The song of London after this is a raucous melody to me. It's here the voices sing."
Her eyes were full of tenderness as she looked at me. I was getting my sympathy after all, and that without any expenditure of my childish dignity. Oh—women are generous creatures! If they cannot make a bargain with their hearts, then they offer them in both hands—and for nothing.
When I saw that look, I had the audacity to take her hand.
"Don't ask me anything more," said I, "let me put the wax in my ears and get back to my little theatres. I shall be happy enough when I take my seat once more in the Park and see the play begin. Next year perhaps I'll come back for a week or two, when there are not so many fish as we've caught in the last few weeks."
I said that for her to laugh at, but she did not even smile. Instead, she took her hand away from mine and her lips set firmly in determination.
"Very well," said she, "tell me nothing. It's not the way to treat a woman when she really wants to know. But you'll learn that as you get older."