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By Root 5868 0

’ he was saying, ‘they knew how to live harmoniously and completely, with their whole being.’ He spoke with a kind of passion, as though he were angry—with the world, with himself, perhaps. ‘We’re all barbarians,’ he began; but was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing. Mary waited for the paroxysm to subside. She felt anxious and at the same time embarrassed and ashamed, as one feels when one has come upon a man off his guard and displaying a weakness which at ordinary times he is at pains to conceal. She wondered whether she ought to say something sympathetic about the cough, or pretend that she hadn’t noticed it. He solved her problem by referring to it himself.

‘Talk of barbarism,’ he said, when the fit was over. He spoke in a tone of disgust, his smile was wry and angry. ‘Have you ever heard anything more barbarous than that cough? A cough like that wouldn’t be allowed in a civilized society.’

Mary proffered solicitude and advice. He laughed impatiently.

‘My mother’s very words,’ he said. ‘Word for word. You women are all the same. Clucking like hens after their chickens.’

‘But think how miserable you’d be if we didn’t cluck!’

A few days later—with some misgivings—he took her to see his mother. The misgivings were groundless; Mary and Mrs. Rampion seemed to find no difficulties in making spiritual contact. Mrs. Rampion was a woman of about fifty, still handsome and with an expression on her face of calm dignity and resignation. Her speech was slow and quiet. Only once did Mary see her manner change and that was when, Mark being out of the room preparing the tea, she began to talk about her son.

‘What do you think of him?’ she asked, leaning forward towards her guest with a sudden brightening of the eyes.

‘What do I think?’ Mary laughed. ‘I’m not impertinent enough to set up as a judge of my betters. But he’s obviously somebody, somebody that matters.’

Mrs. Rampion nodded, smiling with pleasure. ‘He’s somebody,’ she repeated. ‘That’s what I’ve always said.’ Her face became grave. ‘If only he were stronger! If I could only have afforded to bring him up better. He was always delicate. He ought to have been brought up more carefully than I could do. No, not more carefully. I was as careful as I could be. More comfortably, more healthily. But there, I couldn’t afford it.’ She shook her head.’ ‘There you are.’ She gave a little sigh and, leaning back in her chair, sat there in silence, with folded arms, looking at the floor.

Mary made no comment; she did not know what to say. Once more she felt ashamed, miserable and ashamed.

‘What did you think of my mother? ‘ Rampion asked later, when he was escorting her home.

‘I liked her,’ Mary answered.’very much indeed. Even though she did make me feel so small and petty and bad. Which is another way of saying that I admired her, and liked her because of my admiration.’

Rampion nodded. ‘She is admirable,’ he said. ‘She’s courageous and strong and enduring. But she’s too resigned.’

‘But I thought that was one of the wonderful things about her.’

‘She has no right to be resigned,’ he answered, frowning. ‘No right. When you’ve had a life like hers, you oughtn’t to be resigned. You ought to be rebellious. It’s this damned religion. Did I tell you she was religious?’

‘No; but I guessed it, when I saw her,’ Mary answered.

‘She’s a barbarian of the soul,’ he went on. ‘All soul and future. No present, no past, no body, no intellect. Only the soul and the future and in the meantime resignation. Could anything be more barbarous? She ought to rebel.’

‘I should leave her as she is,’ said Mary. ‘She’ll be happier. And you can rebel enough for two.’

Rampion laughed. ‘I’ll rebel enough for millions,’ he said.

At the end of the summer Rampion returned to Sheffield, and a little later the Felphams moved southwards to their London house. It was Mary who wrote the first letter. She had expected to hear from him; but he did not write. Not that there was any good reason why he should. But somehow she had expected that he would write; she was disappointed when he did not. The weeks passed.