Loving - Henry Green [24]
aside, then dipped his fingers in the rustle of potpourri which lay within. Walking on again he sniffed once at his fingers he had dabbled in the dry bones of roses and to do this was a habit with him the few times he was over in this part. He went forward, still intently listening. To his left was a range of high windows muted by white blinds. On his right he passed objects sheeted in white and to which he had never raised the cloths. For this house that had yet to be burned down, and in particular that greater part of it which remained closed, was a shadowless castle of treasures. But he was following music. Also he went like the most silent cat after two white mice, and to tell them as well that what had been missing was now found to have been stolen by a rat. The music came louder and louder as he progressed until at the white and gold ballroom doors it fairly thundered. He paused to look over his shoulder with his hand on a leaping salmon trout in gilt before pressing this lever to go in. There was no one. Nevertheless he spoke back the way he had come. 'They'll break it,' he said aloud as though in explanation, presumably referring to the gramophone which was one of the first luxury clockwork models. 'And in a war,' he added as he turned back to these portals, 'it would still fetch good money,' talking to himself against the thrust of music. The little bitches I'll show 'em,' he said and suddenly opened. They were wheeling wheeling in each other's arms heedless at the far end where they had drawn up one of the white blinds. Above from a rather low ceiling five great chandeliers swept one after the other almost to the waxed parquet floor reflecting in their hundred thousand drops the single sparkle of distant day, again and again red velvet panelled walls, and two girls, minute in purple, dancing multiplied to eternity in these trembling pears of glass. 'You're daft,' he called out. They stopped with their arms about each other. Then as he walked up they disengaged to rearrange their hair and still the waltz thundered. He switched it off. The needle grated. The girls said nothing. They stood with arms up rolling their curls and watched. He went over to the window, twitched down that blind. He came back. He spoke at last. 'Oh all right,' he said, 'I only happened to be passing. O. K.? Yes I know it's none of my business. Go on play it once more if you like.' 'Not now,' Kate said. 'It was only that one of them might hear you,' he explained. 'It's over now,' Edith answered him. 'And that reminds me,' he went on seeming to forget he had just given another reason for his presence. 'What I came to tell you girls was I found out about the waterglass. It's my lad has been and had some. Only a trifle, not enough to notice. He took what he did more out of curiosity than anything.' 'Albert?' Edith exclaimed. 'Fortunate 'e didn't try a taste,' Raunce continued. 'He's that sort. He'd never think twice if it came over him to see what the effects might be. He's a crank that's why. I know I've tried along of that lad but there's some you can't do anything with.' Kate laughed. 'So it was Albert, Albert after all,' she said. 'I came special to mention the matter,' Raunce added and he had not-left Edith with his eyes. 'Ever since Mrs Welch barged in like that at teatime I thought well you never know maybe these girls will take what she said wrong, think it was addressed to them.' 'That cap didn't fit, we never took no notice,' Kate announced. 'It's Edith here,' Raunce said, 'with her talk of she must get home and being dissatisfied.' 'Well thank you very much,' Edith replied as though astounded. 'Don't mention,' he said. 'And I must be off. Busy Charley that's me,' he wound up with what seemed an empty return to his old manner as he abruptly turned away. He went straight out not saying another word. 'Well would you believe that?' Edith murmured half giggling. But Kate was looking at her like she might have been a stranger and she stopped. 'All right come on,' Kate said vicious, 'we're not goin' to stay here all night are we? I reckon