Maradick at Forty: A Transition

by Hugh Walpole

“Good morning, Mr. Morelli,” he said.

In all the crowded market-place she was the only thing that he saw. She was dressed in a white muslin with red roses on it, and over her arm was slung the basket with the lunch; her hair escaped in little golden curls from under her broad hat.

But she found that she didn’t know what to say. This was a great surprise to her, because when she had thought about him in her room, alone, she had always had a great deal to say, and a great many questions to ask.

But now she stood in the sun and hung her head. Morelli watched them both.

Tony stammered. “Good-morning, Miss Morelli. I—I can’t take off my cap because I haven’t got one. Isn’t it a ripping day?” He held out his hand and she took it, and then they both laughed. The old woman behind them in her red peaked hat screamed, “A-pples and O-ranges! Fine ripe grapes!”

“We’re going out for a picnic, father and I,” said Janet at last. “We’ve got lunch in this basket. It’s a day that you can’t be in doors, simply!”

“Oh! I know,” he looked hungrily at the basket, as though he would have loved to have proposed coming as well. “Yes, it’s a great day.” Then he looked at her and started. She had been crying. She was smiling and laughing, but he could see that she had been crying. The mere thought of it made his blood boil; who had made her cry? He looked quickly at Morelli; was it he? Perhaps it was Miss Minns? or perhaps she wasn’t well, but he must know if she were unhappy; he would find out.

“I was thinking of coming to call this afternoon, Mr. Morelli,” he said, “Maradick and I . . . but if you are going to spend the day in the woods, another day——”

“Oh, no,” said Morelli, smiling, “we shall be back again by four. We are only going to have lunch. We should be delighted to see you, and your friend.” Then they said good-bye, and Tony watched them as they turned out of the market-place. They didn’t talk very much as they passed through the town, they had, each of them, their own thoughts. Janet was very happy; he was coming to tea, and they would be able to talk. But how silly she was, she could suddenly think of a hundred things that she would like to have said to him. They turned off the hard white road that ran above the sea and passed along a narrow lane. It was deeply rutted with cart-tracks, and the trees hung so thickly over it that it was quite dark. It wound up the sides of a green hill and then dived suddenly into the heart of a wood. Here there were pine trees, and a broad avenue over which they passed crushing the needles under their feet. The trees met in a green tapestry of colours above their heads, and through it the sun twinkled in golden stars and broad splashes of light. The avenue dwindled into a narrow path, and then suddenly it ended in a round green knoll humped like the back of a camel. The grass was a soft velvety green, and the trees stood like sentinels on every side, but in front they parted and there was a wonderful view. The knoll was at the top of the hill, and you could see straight down, above and beyond the trees of the wood, the sea. To the right there was another clearing, and a little cove of white sand and brown rocks shone in the sun. There was perfect stillness, save for a little breeze that rocked the trees so that they stirred like the breathing of some sleeper.

Janet and her father always came to this place. Afterwards she was to see a great many cities and countries, but this green wood always remained to her the most perfect thing in the world. It was so still that you could, if you held your breath, hear the tiny whisper of the waves across the shingle and the murmur of the mining stamp. It was a wonderful place for whispers; the trees, the sea, the birds, even the flowers seemed to tell secrets, and Janet used to fancy that if she lay there, silently, long enough, she would, like the man in the fairy tale, hear what they were saying. She noticed that she always seemed to hear more when she was with her father. She had gone there sometimes with Miss Minns, and had wondered how she could be so fanciful. Nothing had whispered at all, and Miss Minns had had a headache. But to-day everything seemed to have a new meaning; her meeting with Tony had lent it a colour, an intensity that it had not had before. It was as though they all—the sea, the sky, the trees, the animals—knew that she had got a knight and would like to tell her how glad they were.