“Will you then?” and his face brightened.
“No, no, Guy—I can’t. It would be so ... so ... meaningless.”
Then fresh sobs, and like a passionate, proud child he tore away his hands, and plunged into the dark garden. What could she do? She could only leave him to get over it.
Life was never still; though, like the earth, one did not feel it move ... one’s human relations were ever shifting, silently, like those of the constellations. Suddenly one night one looks up at the sky and realises that Orion has reappeared and that the Great Bear is now standing on the tip of his tail, and one gasps at the vast spaces that have been silently traversed; and it was with the same sensation of awe that she looked back on the past year and realised the silent changes in the inter-relations of her little group: her parents’ relations, her own and Concha’s, her own and Guy’s.
A low voice came from the morning-room; it was the Doña’s: “Whatever Pepa’s opinions or wishes may have been during the latter part of her life, they are the same as mine now.”
“Upon my soul! You evidently ... er ... er have sources of ... er ... information closed to the rest of us—I really cannot ... er ... cope with such statements” and Harry came out on to the loggia, evidently irritated beyond endurance. He was followed by the Doña; but when she saw Teresa and realised that the opportunity for a tête-à-tête was over, having told her to get a wrap, she went in again.
Harry walked up and down for a few seconds, in silence, and then ejaculated ironically: “Remarkable woman, your mother!” “Very!” said Teresa coldly; she did not choose to discuss her with Harry.
“Of course, in the light of ... er ... modern psychology it’s as clear as a pike-staff,” he went on, as usual not reacting to the emotional atmosphere, “she ... er ... doesn’t ... er ... know it, of course, but she’s putting up this Catholicism as a barrier to your marriages—every mother is jealous of her daughters.”
Oh, these scientific people! Always right, and, yet, at the same time, always absurdly wrong! For the real sages, the people who live life, these ugly little treasures found by the excavators miles and miles and miles down into the human soul, are of absolutely no value ... horrid little flints that have long since evolved into beautiful bronze axes ... it was only scientists that cared about that sort of thing. For all practical purposes it was an absolute libel on the Doña—but, dramatically, it might be of value; for dramatic values have nothing to do with truth.
“Our dance, I think, Miss Lane. I couldn’t find you anywhere”; it was Rory’s voice.