To Philip, more than many others, was the preservation of that secret personality essential. He was, this afternoon, determined to live up to the full height of it.
In the schools, at two long tables, the whole village was feeding: the room was steaming with heat: huge urns at the ends of the tables were pouring out tea with a fierce, scornful indifference, as though they would show what they could do but despised their company. The fishermen, farmers, their wives and families, shining with soap, perspiration and excitement, sat, packed so tightly together that eating seemed an impossibility: there were plates of bread and butter, saffron buns, seed-cake piled up and running over: there were the ladies of the village, who said: “Now, Mr. Trefusis, do try another,” or “Mary’s rather tired, I think, Mrs. Maxwell. Shall I lift her down?” or “Well, Mrs. Pascoe, out and about again, I see,” or “How’s the new cottage, Henry? Better than the old one, I expect.”
From the other side of the world came: “Aw, thank ’ee, Ma’am—not so bad, thank ’ee. Up to Glossen’s Farm they ’ad it praper wild, so they tell me”—“Yes ... true enough. All over spots ’er arms was, poor worm”—“Didn’t worry we, thank ’ee, Miss. Marnin’ or evenin’ all the same to we ... Ah, yes, poor Mr. Izards—’e did suffer terrible, poor dear....”
Philip perceived with a sense of irritated isolation how instantly and how easily the other members of his party were swallowed up by the Ceremony. He himself was introduced to a prim young woman in a blue hat, who flung remarks to him over a tea-tray and seemed to regard his well-cut clothes with contempt. The fishermen did not look happy in their stiff Sunday clothes, but he liked their faces. They reminded him more of Russian peasants than any people whom he had seen since his landing in England. No, he must not think about that ... Russia was banished for ever.
Uncle Timothy, Millie, even Lady Seddon were warmly welcomed, but Katherine was adored. He understood, perhaps for the first time, what that place must mean to her. They called her ‘Miss Kathie’, they shouted to her across the room, they cracked jokes with her; an old man, with a long white beard like a prophet, stood up and put his hand on her shoulder as he talked to her. Once she broke away from them and came to him.
“Phil, I want you to come and be introduced to a great friend of mine,” she said.
He followed her, feeling that all eyes watched him, with criticism and even with hostility. A large, immensely broad man, in a navy blue suit, with a red, laughing face, hair cut very close to his head, and eyes of the honestest, stood up as they came across. He looked at Katherine with the devotion and confidence of a faithful dog.
“This is Mr. Richard Curtis,” Katherine said. “He used to pick up shells for me when I was three. He has a boat here with his brother. He’s always in good spirits, aren’t you, Dick, even when you scald your arm with boiling water?”
This was an allusion to some confidence between them, and as their eyes met, Philip felt a pang of ridiculous jealousy. The man’s face was flaming, and his eyes were more devoted than ever. He held out a large, horny hand to Philip. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “I’m proud to shake ’ands with the man wot Miss Katherine is goin’ to marry. We thought, once on a time, p’raps as she’d always be ’ere, along with we, but wot we want most is fer ’er to be ’appy—and that we knows now she will be. I ’ope you’ll be often down—along, sir, in time to come—that is, sir, if you’re not goin’ to take ’er right away from us.”
“Why, of course not, Dick,” said Katherine. “When we’re married we’re going to live quite close. You’ve only got to find us a house.”