Through The Wall

Ina had hardly spoken at all. She said, “Yes,” when she was asked if she liked her room, and, “No,” when she was asked if she was tired. She had become so pale that the delicately applied colour which had been so becoming when she started now showed up like a patch on the white skin. When they went to see the rest of the house she contrived to remain behind.

Pe

“The rooms are the same on both sides-four bedrooms on this floor, and an attic room above. And there is a linen-cupboard on each side. It really was two houses to start with. That’s the door through to our side-there’s one on each floor. Eliza sleeps in your attic, so the other two bedrooms are spare. Then downstairs there are three sitting-rooms, and the kitchen, and things like that-the same both sides. You’ve got the dining-room, and a little room that hasn’t been used much, and Uncle Martin’s study, which I think is the nicest room in the house. And on our side there’s the breakfast-room, and the drawing-room, and a room the aunts have always had for themselves. No one ever goes into the drawing-room except Felix-because of the piano, you know. It’s a lovely Bechstein grand. He really does play beautifully. And he composes. He ought to be doing that all the time, instead of going round playing people’s accompaniments.”

Marian wasn’t stupid. There was an emphasis on “people”-Pe

It was the most comfortable room she had ever seen. All the strangeness went out of her as she looked at it. It wasn’t until afterwards that she could notice and admire the pair of Chippendale bookcases with their curved horns and diamond lattice-work, or the writing-table with its pigeon-holes and little drawers, and the brass handles which were the colour of very pale gold. At the time she only knew that it was a beautiful room, and that she loved it.

Pe

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” said Pe

Marian said, “Yes,” with a deep sigh of content, and all at once Pe

“Marian-you won’t want to take the piano, will you? I don’t know what Felix would do without it, and it wouldn’t be right in here-not a bit. The aunts have been saying you’d want it, and the drawing-room furniture. And of course it’s all yours, but you’d hate it really-nasty gilt spindly stuff, and the sort of shiny brocade you can only sit on in your best evening dress. You wouldn’t really want to spoil this room with it-would you?”

“I should hate it. And of course I won’t take the piano away from Felix.”

The door behind them was open. Eliza came through it with a tea-tray. The cat Mactavish followed, walking delicately, like Agag. Having set down the tray, Eliza straightened herself. Pe

“I thought you would like a cup of tea after the journey.”

And Marian said, “How lovely,” and “Thank you,” and sat down in front of the table which held the tray.

The critical moment impended. Mactavish advanced, his tail fluffed out to its fullest extent, his topaz eyes wary upon the stranger.

Marian said, “Oh, how beautiful!” on what was felt to be a very proper note, and then, “What is his name?”

Eliza noted the pronoun with approbation. She had a biting contempt for people who alluded to all cats as her.

“His name’s Mactavish.”

Marian gazed admiringly.

“Will he come to me?”

“He’ll please himself.”

Mactavish pleased himself. The tone of this person’s voice satisfied a fastidious ear. He was aware of being admired, not fulsomely, but in a well-bred ma

As the sound of a faint purr became audible, Eliza made up her mind. If anyone had told her that Mactavish would have taken such a fancy, she wouldn’t have believed them. Few indeed were the chosen laps upon which he would condescend to sit-Mr. Brand’s, Felix’s, and Pe

“My goodness, gracious me!” and went out of the room in a hurry.

Upstairs in her new bedroom Ina was leaning out of the window. It was all lovely, and she was very unhappy. Cyril was behaving very badly indeed. When it happened right under your eyes like that, it was no good going on trying to pretend any longer. He didn’t want to work-he never had wanted to work. He wanted all the things you can’t get without working for them. He wanted Marian to give him half the money. And she wouldn’t. Ina had said whatever Cyril had wanted her to say. And still Marian wouldn’t. Deep down inside her there was something which said that Marian was right. Since the last really dreadful row Ina found herself unable to close her thought to that voice. It told her that all Cyril ever wanted with money was to spend it on having a good time, and that when it was spent he would want more, and more, and more. She was finding it impossible to drape this Cyril any longer in the garments of romance. He was begi

She didn’t want to see him again.

This thought shocked her so much that she felt giddy. She leaned right out, and heard voices from the window next to hers. This window was on the other side of the wall which divided the two houses, but it was only three or four feet away, and it was open. There were two voices-two women’s voices. One said, “It would be a good thing if she was dead.” And the other said, “People don’t die just because you want them to.”

Ina felt a kind of stinging horror. She drew back, and saw Pe

“There’s some tea in the study. I expect you’re dying for it. Marian couldn’t come up for you because Mactavish won’t get off her lap.”