“She’d be there to Datcherd, though,” Eddy said, feeling that Billy’s wisdom hardly embraced the peculiar circumstances of married life, and Billy, never much interested in personal relations, said, “Perhaps.”
They were in Kensington, and Billy went to call on his grandmother, who lived in Gordon Place, and to whom he went frequently to play backgammon and relate the news. Billy was a very affectionate and dutiful young man, and also nearly as fond of backgammon as his grandmother was. With his grandmother lived an aunt, who didn’t care for his poetry much, and Billy was very fond of her too. He sometimes went with his grandmother to St. Mary Abbot’s Church, to help her to see weddings (which she preferred even to backgammon), or attend services. She was proud of Billy, but, for poets to read, preferred Scott, Keble, or Doctor Watts. She admitted herself behind modern times, but loved to see and hear what young people were doing, though it usually seemed rather silly. To her Billy went this afternoon, and Eddy meanwhile called on Mrs. Le Moine and Miss Hogan in Campden Hill Road. He found Miss Hogan in, just returned from a picture-show, and she gave him tea and conversation.
“Of course you’ve heard all about our intentions. Actually we’re off on Thursday.... Last time Eileen went abroad, the people she was with took a maniac by mistake; so very uncomfortable. I quite thought after that she had decided that travel was not for her. However, it seems not. You know—I’m sure she told you—she was for going just he and she, tout simple. Most improper, of course, not to say unwholesome. They meant no harm, dear children, but who would believe that, and even so, what are the convenances for but to be observed? I put it before Eileen in my most banal and borné manner, but, needless to say, how fruitless! So at last I had to offer to go too. Of course from kindness she had to accept that, though it won’t be at all the same, particularly not to Hugh. Anyhow there we are, and we’re off on Thursday. Hugh will be very much upset by the Channel; I believe he always is; no constitution whatever, poor creature. Also I believe he is of those with whom it lasts on between Calais and Paris—a most unhappy class, but to be avoided as travelling companions. I know too well, because of an aunt of mine.... Well, anyhow we’re going to take the train to Trieste, and then a ship to Kalamata, and then take to our feet and walk across Greece. Hitherto I have only done Greece on the Dunnottar Castle, in the care of Sir Henry Lunn, which, if less thrilling, is safer, owing to the wild dogs that tear the pedestrian on the Greek hills, one is given to understand. I only hope we may be preserved.... And meanwhile you’re going to run those wonderful clubs of Hugh’s. I wonder if you’ll do it at all as he would wish! It is beautiful to see how he trusts you—why, I can’t imagine. In his place I wouldn’t; I would rather hand over my clubs to some unlettered subordinate after my own heart and bred in my own faith. As for you, you have so many faiths that Hugh’s will be swamped in the crowd. But you feel confident that you will do it well? That is good, and the main qualification for success.”
Thus Miss Hogan babbled on, partly because she always did, partly because the young man looked rather strained, and she was afraid if she paused that he might say how sad he was at Eileen’s going, and she believed these things better unexpressed. He wasn’t the only young man who was fond of Eileen, and Miss Hogan had her own ideas as to how to deal with such emotions. She didn’t believe it went deep with Eddy, or that he would admit to himself any emotion at all beyond friendship, owing to his own views as to what was right, not to speak of what was sensible; and no doubt if left to himself for a month or so, he would manage to recover entirely. It would be so obviously silly, as well as wrong, to fall in love with Eileen Le Moine, and Bridget did not believe Eddy, in spite of some confusion in his mental outlook, to be really silly.
She directed the conversation on to the picture-show she had just been to, and that reminded her of Sally Peters.
“Did you hear what the stupid child’s done? Joined the Wild Women, and jabbed her umbrella into a lot of Post Impressionists in the Grafton Galleries. Of course they caught her at it—the clumsiest child!—and took her up on the spot, and she’s coming up for trial to-morrow with three other lunatics, old enough to know better than to lead an ignorant baby like that into mischief. I expect she’ll get a month, and serve her right. I suppose she’ll go on hunger-strike; but she’s so plump that it will probably affect her health not unfavourably. I don’t know who got hold of her; doubtless some mad and bad creatures who saw she had no more sense than a little owl, and set her blundering into shop-windows and picture-glasses like a young blue-bottle.... By the way, though you are, I know, so many things, I feel sure you draw the line at the militants.”
Eddy said he thought he saw their point of view.
“Point of view! They’ve not one,” Miss Hogan cried. “I suppose, like other decent people, you want women to have votes! Well, you must grant they’ve spoilt any chance of that, anyhow—smashed up the whole suffrage campaign with their horrible jabbing umbrellas and absurd little bombs.”
Eddy granted that. “They’ve smashed the suffrage, for the present, yes. Poor things.” He reflected for a moment on these unfortunate persons, and added, “But I do see what they mean, all the same. They smash and spoil and hurt things and people and causes, because they are stupid with anger; but they’ve got things to be angry about, after all. Oh, I admit they’re very, very stupid and inartistic, and hopelessly unaesthetic and British and unimaginative and cruel and without any humour at all—but I do see what they mean, in a way.”
“Well, don’t explain it to me, then, because I’ve heard it at first-hand far too often lately.”