Flowering Wilderness

No! That was only human self-importance! To his small wheel man bound the Universe. Swing low, sweet chariots! But they didn’t! Man swung with them—in space…

CHAPTER 27

Two days later the Cherrell family met in conclave because of a sudden summons received by Hubert to rejoin his regiment in the Soudan. He wished to have something decided about Di

Michael, Adrian, and the General, who had been in personal touch with Wilfrid, were the least vocal, Sir Lawrence and the Judge the most vocal; Hubert and Hilary were now vocal and now dumb.

Starting from the premise, which nobody denied, that the thing was a bad business, two schools of thought declared themselves—Adrian, Michael, and to some extent Hilary believed there was nothing to be done but wait and see; the rest thought there was much to be done, but what—they could not say.

Michael, who had never seen his four uncles so close together before, was struck by the resemblance in the shape and colouring of their faces, except that the eyes of Hilary and Lionel were blue and grey, and of the General and Adrian brown and hazel. They all, notably, lacked gesture, and had a lean activity of figure. In Hubert these characteristics were accentuated by youth, and his hazel eyes at times looked almost grey.

“If only,” Michael heard his father say, “you could injunct her, Lionel?” and Adrian’s impatient:

“We must let Di

“We know all that, Uncle, but the thing will be such a disaster for her, we must do what we can.”

“Well, what CAN you do?”

‘Exactly!’ thought Michael, and said: “Just now she doesn’t know how she stands.”

“You couldn’t get her to go out with you to the Soudan, Hubert?” said the Judge.

“I’ve lost all touch with her.”

“If someone wanted her badly—” began the General, and did not finish.

“Even then,” murmured Adrian, “only if she were quite sure Desert didn’t want her more.”

Hilary took out his pipe. “Has anyone tried Desert?”

“I have,” said the General.

“And I, twice,” muttered Michael.

“Suppose,” said Hubert gloomily, “I had a shot.”

“Not, my dear fellow,” put in Sir Lawrence, “unless you can be quite certain of keeping your temper.”

“I never can be certain of that.”

“Then don’t!”

“Would YOU go, Dad?” asked Michael.

“I?”

“He used to respect you.”

“Not even a blood relation!”

“You might take a chance, Lawrence,” said Hilary.

“But why?”

“None of the rest of us can, for one reason or another.”

“Why shouldn’t YOU?”

“In a way I agree with Adrian; it’s best to leave it all alone.”

“What exactly is the objection to Di

“She’d be marked out for life.”

“So was that fellow who stuck to his wife when she was convicted. Everybody respected him the more.”

“There’s no such sharp hell,” said the Judge, “as seeing fingers pointed at your life’s partner.”

“Di

“Forgive me, but you’re missing the point,” muttered Michael. “The point is Wilfrid’s own feeling. If he remains bitter about himself and marries her—that’ll be hell for her, if you like. And the fonder she is of him, the worse it’ll be.”

“You’re right, Michael,” said Sir Lawrence unexpectedly. “I’d think it well worth while to go if I could make him see that.”

Michael sighed.

“Whichever way it goes, it’s hell for poor Di

“‘Joy cometh in the morning,’” murmured Hilary through a cloud of smoke.

“Do you believe that, Uncle Hilary?”

“Not too much.”

“Di

“Marriage.”

“With somebody else?”

Hilary nodded.

“Lively!”

“Life is lively.”

“Well, Lawrence?” asked the General, sharply: “You’ll go?”

Sir Lawrence studied him for a moment, and then replied: “Yes.”

“Thank you!”

It was not clear to any of them what purpose would be served, but it was a decision of sorts, and at least could be carried out…

Wilfrid had lost most of his bruise and discarded the plaster on his chin when Sir Lawrence, encountering him on the stairs at Cork Street that same late afternoon, said:

“D’you mind if I walk a little way with you?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Any particular direction?”

Wilfrid shrugged, and they walked side by side, till at last Sir Lawrence said:

“Nothing’s worse than not knowing where you’re going!”

“You’re right.”

“Then why go, especially if in doing it you take someone with you? Forgive my putting things crudely, but, except for Di

“None. I don’t want to discuss things. If you’ll forgive me, I’ll branch off.”

Sir Lawrence stopped. “Just one moment, and then I’ll do the branching. Have you realised that a man who has a quarrel with himself is not fit to live with until he’s got over it? That’s all I wanted to say; but it’s a good deal. Think it over!” And, raising his hat, Sir Lawrence turned on his heel. By George! He was well out of that! What an uncomfortable young man! And, after all, one had said all one had come to say! He walked towards Mount Street, reflecting on the limitations imposed by tradition. But for tradition, would Wilfrid mind being thought ‘yellow’? Would Di

He heard hurrying footsteps, and, turning round, saw Desert behind him. Sir Lawrence had almost a shock looking at his face, dry, dark, with quivering lips and deep suffering eyes.

“You were quite right,” he said; “I thought I’d let you know. You can tell her family I’m going away.”

At this complete success of his mission Sir Lawrence experienced dismay.

“Be careful!” he said: “You might do her a great injury.”

“I shall do her that, anyway. Thank you for speaking to me. You’ve made me see. Good-bye!” He turned and was gone.

Sir Lawrence stood looking after him, impressed by his look of suffering. He turned in at his front door doubtful whether he had not made bad worse. While he was putting down his hat and stick, Lady Mont came down the stairs.

“I’m so bored, Lawrence. What have you been doin’?”

“Seeing young Desert; and, it seems, I’ve made him feel that until he can live on good terms with himself he won’t be fit to live with at all.”

“That’s wicked.”

“How?”

“He’ll go away. I always knew he’d go away. You must tell Di

“Is that you, Fleur?… Oh! Di