["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> One may as well begin with Helen's letters to her sister. \"Howards End,\n\n\"Tuesday. \"Dearest Meg,\n\n\"It isn't going to be what we expected. It is old and little, and\naltogether delightful--red brick. We can scarcely pack in as it is,\nand the dear knows what will happen when Paul (younger son) arrives\nto-morrow. From hall you go right or left into dining-room or\ndrawing-room. Hall itself is practically a room. You open another door\nin it, and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to the\nfirst-floor. Three bed-rooms in a row there, and three attics in a\nrow above. That isn't all the house really, but it's all that one\nnotices--nine windows as you look up from the front garden. \"Then there's a very big wych-elm--to the left as you look up--leaning\na little over the house, and standing on the boundary between the garden\nand meadow. I quite love that tree already. Also ordinary elms, oaks--no\nnastier than ordinary oaks--pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. No\nsilver birches, though. However, I must get on to my host and hostess. I\nonly wanted to show that it isn't the least what we expected. Why did\nwe settle that their house would be all gables and wiggles, and their\ngarden all gamboge-coloured paths? I believe simply because we associate\nthem with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailing in beautiful dresses\ndown long corridors, Mr. Wilcox bullying porters, etc. We females are\nthat unjust. \"I shall be back Saturday; will let you know train later. They are as\nangry as I am that you did not come too; really Tibby is too tiresome,\nhe starts a new mortal disease every month. How could he have got hay\nfever in London? and even if he could, it seems hard that you should\ngive up a visit to hear a schoolboy sneeze. Tell him that Charles Wilcox\n(the son who is here) has hay fever too, but he's brave, and gets quite\ncross when we inquire after it. Men like the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a\npower of good. But you won't agree, and I'd better change the subject. \"This long letter is because I'm writing before breakfast. Oh, the\nbeautiful vine leaves! The house is covered with a vine. I looked out\nearlier, and Mrs. Wilcox was already in the garden. She evidently loves\nit. No wonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching the large\nred poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn to the meadow, whose\ncorner to the right I can just see. Trail, trail, went her long dress\nover the sopping grass, and she came back with her hands full of the hay\nthat was cut yesterday--I suppose for rabbits or something, as she kept\non smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on I heard the noise\nof croquet balls, and looked out again, and it was Charles Wilcox\npractising; they are keen on all games. Presently he started sneezing\nand had to stop. Then I hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox\npractising, and then, 'a-tissue, a-tissue': he has to stop too. Then\nEvie comes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machine that is\ntacked on to a green-gage-tree--they put everything to use--and then\nshe says 'a-tissue,' and in she goes. And finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears,\ntrail, trail, still smelling hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict\nall this on you because once you said that life is sometimes life and\nsometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish tother from\nwhich, and up to now I have always put that down as 'Meg's clever\nnonsense.' But this morning, it really does seem not life but a play,\nand it did amuse me enormously to watch the W's. Now Mrs. Wilcox has\ncome in. \"I am going to wear [omission]. Last night Mrs. Wilcox wore an\n[omission], and Evie [omission]. So it isn't exactly a go-as-you-please\nplace, and if you shut your eyes it still seems the wiggly hotel that we\nexpected. Not if you open them. The dog-roses are too sweet. There is a\ngreat hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall, so that they fall\ndown in garlands, and nice and thin at the bottom, so that you can see\nducks through it and a cow. These belong to the farm, which is the only\nhouse near us. There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love\nto Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep you\ncompany, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again Thursday. \"HELEN.\" \"Howards End\n\n\"Friday\n\n\"Dearest Meg,\n\n\"I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs. Wilcox, if quieter\nthan in Germany, is sweeter than ever, and I never saw anything like her\nsteady unselfishness, and the best of it is that the others do not take\nadvantage of her. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you\ncan imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends. The fun of\nit is that they think me a noodle, and say so--at least, Mr. Wilcox\ndoes--and when that happens, and one doesn't mind, it's a pretty sure\ntest, isn't it? He says the most horrid things about woman's suffrage so\nnicely, and when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms\nand gave me such a setting down as I've never had. Meg, shall we ever\nlearn to talk less? I never felt so ashamed of myself in my life. I\ncouldn't point to a time when men had been equal, nor even to a time\nwhen the wish to be equal had made them happier in other ways. I\ncouldn't say a word. I had just picked up the notion that equality is\ngood from some book--probably from poetry, or you. Anyhow, it's been\nknocked into pieces, and, like all people who are really strong, Mr.\nWilcox did it without hurting me. On the other hand, I laugh at them for\ncatching hay fever. We live like fighting-cocks, and Charles takes us\nout every day in the motor--a tomb with trees in it, a hermit's house,\na wonderful road that was made by the Kings of Mercia--tennis--a cricket\nmatch--bridge and at night we squeeze up in this lovely house. The whole\nclan's here now--it's like a rabbit warren. Evie is a dear. They want\nme to stop over Sunday--I suppose it won't matter if I do. Marvellous\nweather and the views marvellous--views westward to the high ground. Thank you for your letter. Burn this. \"Your affectionate\n\n\"HELEN.\" \"Howards End,\n\n\"Sunday. \"Dearest, dearest Meg,--I do not know what you will say: Paul and I are\nin love--the younger son who only came here Wednesday.\" Margaret glanced at her sister's note and pushed it over the\nbreakfast-table to her aunt. There was a moment's hush, and then the\nflood-gates opened. \"I can tell you nothing, Aunt Juley. I know no more than you do. We\nmet--we only met the father and mother abroad last spring. I know so\nlittle that I didn't even know their son's name. It's all so--\" She\nwaved her hand and laughed a little. \"In that case it is far too sudden.\" \"Who knows, Aunt Juley, who knows?\" \"But, Margaret, dear, I mean, we mustn't be unpractical now that we've\ncome to facts. It is too sudden, surely.\" \"Who knows!\" \"But, Margaret, dear--\"\n\n\"I'll go for her other letters,\" said Margaret. \"No, I won't, I'll\nfinish my breakfast. In fact, I haven't them. We met the Wilcoxes on an\nawful expedition that we made from Heidelberg to Speyer. Helen and I\nhad got it into our heads that there was a grand old cathedral at\nSpeyer--the Archbishop of Speyer was one of the seven electors--you\nknow--'Speyer, Maintz, and Koln.' Those three sees once commanded the\nRhine Valley and got it the name of Priest Street.\" \"I still feel quite uneasy about this business, Margaret.\" \"The train crossed by a bridge of boats, and at first sight it looked\nquite fine. But oh, in five minutes we had seen the whole thing. The\ncathedral had been ruined, absolutely ruined, by restoration; not an\ninch left of the original structure.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> We wasted a whole day, and came\nacross the Wilcoxes as we were eating our sandwiches in the public\ngardens. They too, poor things, had been taken in--they were actually\nstopping at Speyer--and they rather liked Helen's insisting that they\nmust fly with us to Heidelberg. As a matter of fact, they did come on\nnext day. We all took some drives together. They knew us well enough to\nask Helen to come and see them--at least, I was asked too, but Tibby's\nillness prevented me, so last Monday she went alone. That's all. You\nknow as much as I do now. It's a young man out of the unknown. She was\nto have come back Saturday, but put off till Monday, perhaps on account\nof--I don't know.\" She broke off, and listened to the sounds of a London morning. Their\nhouse was in Wickham Place, and fairly quiet, for a lofty promontory of\nbuildings separated it from the main thoroughfare. One had the sense of\na backwater, or rather of an estuary, whose waters flowed in from the\ninvisible sea, and ebbed into a profound silence while the waves without\nwere still beating. Though the promontory consisted of flats--expensive,\nwith cavernous entrance halls, full of concierges and palms--it\nfulfilled its purpose, and gained for the older houses opposite a\ncertain measure of peace. These, too, would be swept away in time, and another promontory would\narise upon their site, as humanity piled itself higher and higher on the\nprecious soil of London. Mrs. Munt had her own method of interpreting her nieces. She decided\nthat Margaret was a little hysterical, and was trying to gain time by\na torrent of talk. Feeling very diplomatic, she lamented the fate of\nSpeyer, and declared that never, never should she be so misguided as to\nvisit it, and added of her own accord that the principles of restoration\nwere ill understood in Germany. \"The Germans,\" she said, \"are too\nthorough, and this is all very well sometimes, but at other times it\ndoes not do.\" \"Exactly,\" said Margaret; \"Germans are too thorough.\" And her eyes began\nto shine. \"Of course I regard you Schlegels as English,\" said Mrs. Munt\nhastily--\"English to the backbone.\" Margaret leaned forward and stroked her hand. \"And that reminds me--Helen's letter.\" \"Oh yes, Aunt Juley, I am thinking all right about Helen's letter. I\nknow--I must go down and see her. I am thinking about her all right. I\nam meaning to go down.\" \"But go with some plan,\" said Mrs. Munt, admitting into her kindly voice\na note of exasperation. \"Margaret, if I may interfere, don't be taken by\nsurprise. What do you think of the Wilcoxes? Are they our sort? Are they\nlikely people? Could they appreciate Helen, who is to my mind a very\nspecial sort of person? Do they care about Literature and Art? That is\nmost important when you come to think of it. Literature and Art. Most\nimportant. How old would the son be? She says 'younger son.' Would he\nbe in a position to marry? Is he likely to make Helen happy? Did you\ngather--\"\n\n\"I gathered nothing.\" They began to talk at once. \"Then in that case--\"\n\n\"In that case I can make no plans, don't you see.\" \"On the contrary--\"\n\n\"I hate plans. I hate lines of action. Helen isn't a baby.\" \"Then in that case, my dear, why go down?\" Margaret was silent. If her aunt could not see why she must go down,\nshe was not going to tell her. She was not going to say, \"I love my dear\nsister; I must be near her at this crisis of her life.\" The affections\nare more reticent than the passions, and their expression more subtle. If she herself should ever fall in love with a man, she, like Helen,\nwould proclaim it from the housetops, but as she loved only a sister she\nused the voiceless language of sympathy. \"I consider you odd girls,\" continued Mrs. Munt, \"and very wonderful\ngirls, and in many ways far older than your years. But--you won't be\noffended? frankly, I feel you are not up to this business. It requires\nan older person. Dear, I have nothing to call me back to Swanage.\" She\nspread out her plump arms. \"I am all at your disposal. Let me go down to\nthis house whose name I forget instead of you.\" \"Aunt Juley\"--she jumped up and kissed her--\"I must, must go to Howards\nEnd myself. You don't exactly understand, though I can never thank you\nproperly for offering.\" \"I do understand,\" retorted Mrs. Munt, with immense confidence. \"I go\ndown in no spirit of interference, but to make inquiries. Inquiries are\nnecessary. Now, I am going to be rude. You would say the wrong thing; to\na certainty you would. In your anxiety for Helen's happiness you would\noffend the whole of these Wilcoxes by asking one of your impetuous\nquestions--not that one minds offending them.\" \"I shall ask no questions. I have it in Helen's writing that she and\na man are in love. There is no question to ask as long as she keeps to\nthat. All the rest isn't worth a straw. A long engagement if you like,\nbut inquiries, questions, plans, lines of action--no, Aunt Juley, no.\" Away she hurried, not beautiful, not supremely brilliant, but filled\nwith something that took the place of both qualities--something best\ndescribed as a profound vivacity, a continual and sincere response to\nall that she encountered in her path through life. \"If Helen had written the same to me about a shop assistant or a\npenniless clerk--\"\n\n\"Dear Margaret, do come into the library and shut the door. Your good\nmaids are dusting the banisters.\" \"--or if she had wanted to marry the man who calls for Carter Paterson,\nI should have said the same.\" Then, with one of those turns that\nconvinced her aunt that she was not mad really, and convinced observers\nof another type that she was not a barren theorist, she added: \"Though\nin the case of Carter Paterson I should want it to be a very long\nengagement indeed, I must say.\" \"I should think so,\" said Mrs. Munt; \"and, indeed, I can scarcely\nfollow you. Now, just imagine if you said anything of that sort to the\nWilcoxes. I understand it, but most good people would think you mad. Imagine how disconcerting for Helen! What is wanted is a person who will\ngo slowly, slowly in this business, and see how things are and where\nthey are likely to lead to.\" Margaret was down on this. \"But you implied just now that the engagement must be broken off.\" \"I think probably it must; but slowly.\" \"Can you break an engagement off slowly?\" Her eyes lit up. \"What's an\nengagement made of, do you suppose? I think it's made of some hard stuff\nthat may snap, but can't break. It is different to the other ties of\nlife. They stretch or bend. They admit of degree. They're different.\" \"Exactly so. But won't you let me just run down to Howards House, and\nsave you all the discomfort? I will really not interfere, but I do so\nthoroughly understand the kind of thing you Schlegels want that one\nquiet look round will be enough for me.\" Margaret again thanked her, again kissed her, and then ran upstairs to\nsee her brother. He was not so well. The hay fever had worried him a good deal all night. His head ached,\nhis eyes were wet, his mucous membrane, he informed her, in a most\nunsatisfactory condition. The only thing that made life worth living was\nthe thought of Walter Savage Landor, from whose Imaginary Conversations\nshe had promised to read at frequent intervals during the day. It was rather difficult. Something must be done about Helen. She must\nbe assured that it is not a criminal offence to love at first sight. A telegram to this effect would be cold and cryptic, a personal visit\nseemed each moment more impossible. Now the doctor arrived, and said\nthat Tibby was quite bad. Might it really be best to accept Aunt Juley's\nkind offer, and to send her down to Howards End with a note? Certainly Margaret was impulsive. She did swing rapidly from one\ndecision to another. Running downstairs into the library, she cried:\n\"Yes, I have changed my mind; I do wish that you would go.\" There was a train from King's Cross at eleven.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> At half-past ten Tibby,\nwith rare self-effacement, fell asleep, and Margaret was able to drive\nher aunt to the station. \"You will remember, Aunt Juley, not to be drawn into discussing the\nengagement. Give my letter to Helen, and say whatever you feel yourself,\nbut do keep clear of the relatives. We have scarcely got their names\nstraight yet, and, besides, that sort of thing is so uncivilised and\nwrong.\" \"So uncivilised?\" queried Mrs. Munt, fearing that she was losing the\npoint of some brilliant remark. \"Oh, I used an affected word. I only meant would you please talk the\nthing over only with Helen.\" \"Only with Helen.\" \"Because--\" But it was no moment to expound the personal nature of love. Even Margaret shrank from it, and contented herself with stroking\nher good aunt's hand, and with meditating, half sensibly and half\npoetically, on the journey that was about to begin from King's Cross. Like many others who have lived long in a great capital, she had strong\nfeelings about the various railway termini. They are our gates to the\nglorious and the unknown. Through them we pass out into adventure and\nsunshine, to them, alas! we return. In Paddington all Cornwall is latent\nand the remoter west; down the inclines of Liverpool Street lie fenlands\nand the illimitable Broads; Scotland is through the pylons of Euston;\nWessex behind the poised chaos of Waterloo. Italians realise this, as is\nnatural; those of them who are so unfortunate as to serve as waiters in\nBerlin call the Anhalt Bahnhof the Stazione d'Italia, because by it they\nmust return to their homes. And he is a chilly Londoner who does not\nendow his stations with some personality, and extend to them, however\nshyly, the emotions of fear and love. To Margaret--I hope that it will not set the reader against her--the\nstation of King's Cross had always suggested Infinity. Its very\nsituation--withdrawn a little behind the facile splendours of St.\nPancras--implied a comment on the materialism of life. Those two great\narches, colourless, indifferent, shouldering between them an unlovely\nclock, were fit portals for some eternal adventure, whose issue might\nbe prosperous, but would certainly not be expressed in the ordinary\nlanguage of prosperity. If you think this ridiculous, remember that it\nis not Margaret who is telling you about it; and let me hasten to add\nthat they were in plenty of time for the train; that Mrs. Munt, though\nshe took a second-class ticket, was put by the guard into a first (only\ntwo \"seconds\" on the train, one smoking and the other babies--one cannot\nbe expected to travel with babies); and that Margaret, on her return to\nWickham Place, was confronted with the following telegram:\n\n\"All over. Wish I had never written. Tell no one--, HELEN.\" But Aunt Juley was gone--gone irrevocably, and no power on earth could\nstop her. Most complacently did Mrs. Munt rehearse her mission. Her nieces were\nindependent young women, and it was not often that she was able to help\nthem. Emily's daughters had never been quite like other girls. They\nhad been left motherless when Tibby was born, when Helen was five and\nMargaret herself but thirteen. It was before the passing of the Deceased\nWife's Sister Bill, so Mrs. Munt could without impropriety offer to\ngo and keep house at Wickham Place. But her brother-in-law, who was\npeculiar and a German, had referred the question to Margaret, who with\nthe crudity of youth had answered, \"No, they could manage much better\nalone.\" Five years later Mr. Schlegel had died too, and Mrs. Munt had\nrepeated her offer. Margaret, crude no longer, had been grateful and\nextremely nice, but the substance of her answer had been the same. \"I\nmust not interfere a third time,\" thought Mrs. Munt. However, of course\nshe did. She learnt, to her horror, that Margaret, now of age, was\ntaking her money out of the old safe investments and putting it into\nForeign Things, which always smash. Silence would have been criminal. Her own fortune was invested in Home Rails, and most ardently did\nshe beg her niece to imitate her. \"Then we should be together, dear.\" Margaret, out of politeness, invested a few hundreds in the Nottingham\nand Derby Railway, and though the Foreign Things did admirably and the\nNottingham and Derby declined with the steady dignity of which only Home\nRails are capable, Mrs. Munt never ceased to rejoice, and to say, \"I did\nmanage that, at all events. When the smash comes poor Margaret will have\na nest-egg to fall back upon.\" This year Helen came of age, and exactly\nthe same thing happened in Helen's case; she also would shift her money\nout of Consols, but she, too, almost without being pressed, consecrated\na fraction of it to the Nottingham and Derby Railway. So far so good,\nbut in social matters their aunt had accomplished nothing. Sooner or\nlater the girls would enter on the process known as throwing themselves\naway, and if they had delayed hitherto, it was only that they might\nthrow themselves more vehemently in the future. They saw too many people\nat Wickham Place--unshaven musicians, an actress even, German cousins\n(one knows what foreigners are), acquaintances picked up at Continental\nhotels (one knows what they are too). It was interesting, and down\nat Swanage no one appreciated culture more than Mrs. Munt; but it was\ndangerous, and disaster was bound to come. How right she was, and how\nlucky to be on the spot when the disaster came! The train sped northward, under innumerable tunnels. It was only an\nhour's journey, but Mrs. Munt had to raise and lower the window again\nand again. She passed through the South Welwyn Tunnel, saw light for\na moment, and entered the North Welwyn Tunnel, of tragic fame. She\ntraversed the immense viaduct, whose arches span untroubled meadows and\nthe dreamy flow of Tewin Water. She skirted the parks of politicians. At\ntimes the Great North Road accompanied her, more suggestive of infinity\nthan any railway, awakening, after a nap of a hundred years, to such\nlife as is conferred by the stench of motor-cars, and to such culture\nas is implied by the advertisements of antibilious pills. To history,\nto tragedy, to the past, to the future, Mrs. Munt remained equally\nindifferent; hers but to concentrate on the end of her journey, and to\nrescue poor Helen from this dreadful mess. The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of the large villages\nthat are strung so frequently along the North Road, and that owe their\nsize to the traffic of coaching and pre-coaching days. Being near\nLondon, it had not shared in the rural decay, and its long High Street\nhad budded out right and left into residential estates. For about a\nmile a series of tiled and slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt's\ninattentive eyes, a series broken at one point by six Danish tumuli that\nstood shoulder to shoulder along the highroad, tombs of soldiers. Beyond\nthese tumuli, habitations thickened, and the train came to a standstill\nin a tangle that was almost a town. The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters, struck an\nindeterminate note. Into which country will it lead, England or\nSuburbia? It was new, it had island platforms and a subway, and the\nsuperficial comfort exacted by business men. But it held hints of local\nlife, personal intercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was to discover. \"I want a house,\" she confided to the ticket boy. \"Its name is Howards\nLodge. Do you know where it is?\" \"Mr. Wilcox!\" the boy called. A young man in front of them turned around. \"She's wanting Howards End.\" There was nothing for it but to go forward, though Mrs. Munt was too\nmuch agitated even to stare at the stranger. But remembering that there\nwere two brothers, she had the sense to say to him, \"Excuse me asking,\nbut are you the younger Mr. Wilcox or the elder?\" \"The younger. Can I do anything for you?\" \"Oh, well\"--she controlled herself with difficulty. \"Really. Are you? I--\" She moved; away from the ticket boy and lowered her voice. \"I am\nMiss Schlegel's aunt. I ought to introduce myself, oughtn't I? My name\nis Mrs. Munt.\" She was conscious that he raised his cap and said quite coolly, \"Oh,\nrather; Miss Schlegel is stopping with us.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Did you want to see her?\" \"Possibly.\" \"I'll call you a cab. No; wait a mo--\" He thought. \"Our motor's here. I'll run you up in it.\" \"That is very kind.\" \"Not at all, if you'll just wait till they bring out a parcel from the\noffice. This way.\" \"My niece is not with you by any chance?\" \"No; I came over with my father. He has gone on north in your train. You'll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You're coming up to lunch, I hope?\" \"I should like to come UP,\" said Mrs. Munt, not committing herself to\nnourishment until she had studied Helen's lover a little more. He seemed\na gentleman, but had so rattled her round that her powers of observation\nwere numbed. She glanced at him stealthily. To a feminine eye there was nothing amiss in the sharp depressions at\nthe corners of his mouth, or in the rather box-like construction of his\nforehead. He was dark, clean-shaven, and seemed accustomed to command. \"In front or behind? Which do you prefer? It may be windy in front.\" \"In front if I may; then we can talk.\" \"But excuse me one moment--I can't think what they're doing with that\nparcel.\" He strode into the booking-office, and called with a new voice:\n\"Hi! hi, you there! Are you going to keep me waiting all day? Parcel for\nWilcox, Howards End. Just look sharp!\" Emerging, he said in quieter tones: \"This station's abominably\norganised; if I had my way, the whole lot of 'em should get the sack. May I help you in?\" \"This is very good of you,\" said Mrs. Munt, as she settled herself into\na luxurious cavern of red leather, and suffered her person to be padded\nwith rugs and shawls. She was more civil than she had intended, but\nreally this young man was very kind. Moreover, she was a little afraid\nof him; his self-possession was extraordinary. \"Very good indeed,\" she\nrepeated, adding: \"It is just what I should have wished.\" \"Very good of you to say so,\" he replied, with a slight look of\nsurprise, which, like most slight looks, escaped Mrs. Munt's attention. \"I was just tooling my father over to catch the down train.\" \"You see, we heard from Helen this morning.\" Young Wilcox was pouring in petrol, starting his engine, and performing\nother actions with which this story has no concern. The great car began\nto rock, and the form of Mrs. Munt, trying to explain things, sprang\nagreeably up and down among the red cushions. \"The mater will be very\nglad to see you,\" he mumbled. \"Hi! I say. Parcel. Parcel for Howards\nEnd. Bring it out. Hi!\" A bearded porter emerged with the parcel in one hand and an entry book\nin the other. With the gathering whir of the motor these ejaculations\nmingled: \"Sign, must I? Why the--should I sign after all this bother? Not even got a pencil on you? Remember next time I report you to the\nstation-master. My time's of value, though yours mayn't be. Here\"--here\nbeing a tip. \"Extremely sorry, Mrs. Munt.\" \"Not at all, Mr. Wilcox.\" \"And do you object to going through the village? It is rather a longer\nspin, but I have one or two commissions.\" \"I should love going through the village. Naturally I am very anxious to\ntalk things over with you.\" As she said this she felt ashamed, for she was disobeying Margaret's\ninstructions. Only disobeying them in the letter, surely. Margaret had\nonly warned her against discussing the incident with outsiders. Surely\nit was not \"uncivilised or wrong\" to discuss it with the young man\nhimself, since chance had thrown them together. A reticent fellow, he made no reply. Mounting by her side, he put on\ngloves and spectacles, and off they drove, the bearded porter--life is a\nmysterious business--looking after them with admiration. The wind was in their faces down the station road, blowing the dust into\nMrs. Munt's eyes. But as soon as they turned into the Great North Road\nshe opened fire. \"You can well imagine,\" she said, \"that the news was a\ngreat shock to us.\" \"What news?\" \"Mr. Wilcox,\" she said frankly, \"Margaret has told me\neverything--everything. I have seen Helen's letter.\" He could not look her in the face, as his eyes were fixed on his work;\nhe was travelling as quickly as he dared down the High Street. But he\ninclined his head in her direction, and said: \"I beg your pardon; I\ndidn't catch.\" \"About Helen. Helen, of course. Helen is a very exceptional person--I\nam sure you will let me say this, feeling towards her as you do--indeed,\nall the Schlegels are exceptional. I come in no spirit of interference,\nbut it was a great shock.\" They drew up opposite a draper's. Without replying, he turned round in\nhis seat, and contemplated the cloud of dust that they had raised in\ntheir passage through the village. It was settling again, but not all\ninto the road from which he had taken it. Some of it had percolated\nthrough the open windows, some had whitened the roses and gooseberries\nof the wayside gardens, while a certain proportion had entered the\nlungs of the villagers. \"I wonder when they'll learn wisdom and tar the\nroads,\" was his comment. Then a man ran out of the draper's with a roll\nof oilcloth, and off they went again. \"Margaret could not come herself, on account of poor Tibby, so I am here\nto represent her and to have a good talk.\" \"I'm sorry to be so dense,\" said the young man, again drawing up outside\na shop. \"But I still haven't quite understood.\" \"Helen, Mr. Wilcox--my niece and you.\" He pushed up his goggles and gazed at her, absolutely bewildered. Horror\nsmote her to the heart, for even she began to suspect that they were at\ncross-purposes, and that she had commenced her mission by some hideous\nblunder. \"Miss Schlegel and myself?\" he asked, compressing his lips. \"I trust there has been no misunderstanding,\" quavered Mrs. Munt. \"Her\nletter certainly read that way.\" \"What way?\" \"That you and she--\" She paused, then drooped her eyelids. \"I think I catch your meaning,\" he said stickily. \"What an extraordinary\nmistake!\" \"Then you didn't the least--\" she stammered, getting blood-red in the\nface, and wishing she had never been born. \"Scarcely, as I am already engaged to another lady.\" There was a\nmoment's silence, and then he caught his breath and exploded with, \"Oh,\ngood God! Don't tell me it 's some silliness of Paul's.\" \"But you are Paul.\" \"I'm not.\" \"Then why did you say so at the station?\" \"I said nothing of the sort.\" \"I beg your pardon, you did.\" \"I beg your pardon, I did not. My name is Charles.\" \"Younger\" may mean son as opposed to father, or second brother as\nopposed to first. There is much to be said for either view, and later on\nthey said it. But they had other questions before them now. \"Do you mean to tell me that Paul--\"\n\nBut she did not like his voice. He sounded as if he was talking to a\nporter, and, certain that he had deceived her at the station, she too\ngrew angry. \"Do you mean to tell me that Paul and your niece--\"\n\nMrs. Munt--such is human nature--determined that she would champion the\nlovers. She was not going to be bullied by a severe young man. \"Yes,\nthey care for one another very much indeed,\" she said. \"I dare say they\nwill tell you about it by-and-by. We heard this morning.\" And Charles clenched his fist and cried, \"The idiot, the idiot, the\nlittle fool!\" Mrs. Munt tried to divest herself of her rugs. \"If that is your\nattitude, Mr. Wilcox, I prefer to walk.\" \"I beg you will do no such thing. I take you up this moment to the\nhouse. Let me tell you the thing's impossible, and must be stopped.\" Mrs. Munt did not often lose her temper, and when she did it was only to\nprotect those whom she loved. On this occasion she blazed out. \"I quite\nagree, sir. The thing is impossible, and I will come up and stop it.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> My\nniece is a very exceptional person, and I am not inclined to sit still\nwhile she throws herself away on those who will not appreciate her.\" Charles worked his jaws. \"Considering she has only known your brother since Wednesday, and only\nmet your father and mother at a stray hotel--\"\n\n\"Could you possibly lower your voice? The shopman will overhear.\" Esprit de classe--if one may coin the phrase--was strong in Mrs. Munt. She sat quivering while a member of the lower orders deposited a metal\nfunnel, a saucepan, and a garden squirt beside the roll of oilcloth. \"Right behind?\" \"Yes, sir.\" And the lower orders vanished in a cloud of dust. \"I warn you: Paul hasn't a penny; it's useless.\" \"No need to warn us, Mr. Wilcox, I assure you. The warning is all the\nother way. My niece has been very foolish, and I shall give her a good\nscolding and take her back to London with me.\" \"He has to make his way out in Nigeria. He couldn't think of marrying\nfor years, and when he does it must be a woman who can stand the\nclimate, and is in other ways--Why hasn't he told us? Of course he's\nashamed. He knows he's been a fool. And so he has--a downright fool.\" She grew furious. \"Whereas Miss Schlegel has lost no time in publishing the news.\" \"If I were a man, Mr. Wilcox, for that last remark I'd box your ears. You're not fit to clean my niece's boots, to sit in the same room with\nher, and you dare--you actually dare--I decline to argue with such a\nperson.\" \"All I know is, she's spread the thing and he hasn't, and my father's\naway and I--\"\n\n\"And all that I know is--\"\n\n\"Might I finish my sentence, please?\" \"No.\" Charles clenched his teeth and sent the motor swerving all over the\nlane. She screamed. So they played the game of Capping Families, a round of which is always\nplayed when love would unite two members of our race. But they played it\nwith unusual vigour, stating in so many words that Schlegels were better\nthan Wilcoxes, Wilcoxes better than Schlegels. They flung decency\naside. The man was young, the woman deeply stirred; in both a vein of\ncoarseness was latent. Their quarrel was no more surprising than are\nmost quarrels--inevitable at the time, incredible afterwards. But it was\nmore than usually futile. A few minutes, and they were enlightened. The\nmotor drew up at Howards End, and Helen, looking very pale, ran out to\nmeet her aunt. \"Aunt Juley, I have just had a telegram from Margaret; I--I meant to\nstop your coming. It isn't--it's over.\" The climax was too much for Mrs. Munt. She burst into tears. \"Aunt Juley dear, don't. Don't let them know I've been so silly. It\nwasn't anything. Do bear up for my sake.\" \"Paul,\" cried Charles Wilcox, pulling his gloves off. \"Don't let them know. They are never to know.\" \"Oh, my darling Helen--\"\n\n\"Paul! Paul!\" A very young man came out of the house. \"Paul, is there any truth in this?\" \"I didn't--I don't--\"\n\n\"Yes or no, man; plain question, plain answer. Did or didn't Miss\nSchlegel--\"\n\n\"Charles, dear,\" said a voice from the garden. \"Charles, dear Charles,\none doesn't ask plain questions. There aren't such things.\" They were all silent. It was Mrs. Wilcox. She approached just as Helen's letter had described her, trailing\nnoiselessly over the lawn, and there was actually a wisp of hay in her\nhands. She seemed to belong not to the young people and their motor, but\nto the house, and to the tree that overshadowed it. One knew that she\nworshipped the past, and that the instinctive wisdom the past can alone\nbestow had descended upon her--that wisdom to which we give the clumsy\nname of aristocracy. High born she might not be. But assuredly she cared\nabout her ancestors, and let them help her. When she saw Charles angry,\nPaul frightened, and Mrs. Munt in tears, she heard her ancestors say,\n\"Separate those human beings who will hurt each other most. The rest\ncan wait.\" So she did not ask questions. Still less did she pretend that\nnothing had happened, as a competent society hostess would have done. She said: \"Miss Schlegel, would you take your aunt up to your room or\nto my room, whichever you think best. Paul, do find Evie, and tell her\nlunch for six, but I'm not sure whether we shall all be downstairs for\nit.\" And when they had obeyed her, she turned to her elder son, who\nstill stood in the throbbing, stinking car, and smiled at him with\ntenderness, and without saying a word, turned away from him towards her\nflowers. \"Mother,\" he called, \"are you aware that Paul has been playing the fool\nagain?\" \"It is all right, dear. They have broken off the engagement.\" \"Engagement--!\" \"They do not love any longer, if you prefer it put that way,\" said Mrs.\nWilcox, stooping down to smell a rose. Helen and her aunt returned to Wickham Place in a state of collapse, and\nfor a little time Margaret had three invalids on her hands. Mrs. Munt\nsoon recovered. She possessed to a remarkable degree the power of\ndistorting the past, and before many days were over she had forgotten\nthe part played by her own imprudence in the catastrophe. Even at the\ncrisis she had cried, \"Thank goodness, poor Margaret is saved this!\" which during the journey to London evolved into, \"It had to be gone\nthrough by some one,\" which in its turn ripened into the permanent form\nof \"The one time I really did help Emily's girls was over the Wilcox\nbusiness.\" But Helen was a more serious patient. New ideas had burst\nupon her like a thunderclap, and by them and by their reverberations she\nhad been stunned. The truth was that she had fallen in love, not with an individual, but\nwith a family. Before Paul arrived she had, as it were, been tuned up into his key. The energy of the Wilcoxes had fascinated her, had created new images of\nbeauty in her responsive mind. To be all day with them in the open air,\nto sleep at night under their roof, had seemed the supreme joy of\nlife, and had led to that abandonment of personality that is a possible\nprelude to love. She had liked giving in to Mr. Wilcox, or Evie,\nor Charles; she had liked being told that her notions of life were\nsheltered or academic; that Equality was nonsense, Votes for Women\nnonsense, Socialism nonsense, Art and Literature, except when conducive\nto strengthening the character, nonsense. One by one the Schlegel\nfetiches had been overthrown, and, though professing to defend them, she\nhad rejoiced. When Mr. Wilcox said that one sound man of business did\nmore good to the world than a dozen of your social reformers, she had\nswallowed the curious assertion without a gasp, and had leant back\nluxuriously among the cushions of his motorcar. When Charles said, \"Why\nbe so polite to servants? they don't understand it,\" she had not given\nthe Schlegel retort of, \"If they don't understand it, I do.\" No; she\nhad vowed to be less polite to servants in the future. \"I am swathed in\ncant,\" she thought, \"and it is good for me to be stripped of it.\" And\nall that she thought or did or breathed was a quiet preparation for\nPaul. Paul was inevitable. Charles was taken up with another girl, Mr.\nWilcox was so old, Evie so young, Mrs. Wilcox so different. Round the\nabsent brother she began to throw the halo of Romance, to irradiate\nhim with all the splendour of those happy days, to feel that in him she\nshould draw nearest to the robust ideal. He and she were about the same\nage, Evie said. Most people thought Paul handsomer than his brother. He\nwas certainly a better shot, though not so good at golf. And when Paul\nappeared, flushed with the triumph of getting through an examination,\nand ready to flirt with any pretty girl, Helen met him halfway, or more\nthan halfway, and turned towards him on the Sunday evening. He had been talking of his approaching exile in Nigeria, and he should\nhave continued to talk of it, and allowed their guest to recover. But\nthe heave of her bosom flattered him. Passion was possible, and he\nbecame passionate.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Deep down in him something whispered, \"This girl\nwould let you kiss her; you might not have such a chance again.\" That was \"how it happened,\" or, rather, how Helen described it to her\nsister, using words even more unsympathetic than my own. But the poetry\nof that kiss, the wonder of it, the magic that there was in life for\nhours after it--who can describe that? It is so easy for an Englishman\nto sneer at these chance collisions of human beings. To the insular\ncynic and the insular moralist they offer an equal opportunity. It is so\neasy to talk of \"passing emotion,\" and to forget how vivid the emotion\nwas ere it passed. Our impulse to sneer, to forget, is at root a good\none. We recognise that emotion is not enough, and that men and women are\npersonalities capable of sustained relations, not mere opportunities for\nan electrical discharge. Yet we rate the impulse too highly. We do not\nadmit that by collisions of this trivial sort the doors of heaven may be\nshaken open. To Helen, at all events, her life was to bring nothing more\nintense than the embrace of this boy who played no part in it. He had\ndrawn her out of the house, where there was danger of surprise and\nlight; he had led her by a path he knew, until they stood under the\ncolumn of the vast wych-elm. A man in the darkness, he had whispered \"I\nlove you\" when she was desiring love. In time his slender personality\nfaded, the scene that he had evoked endured. In all the variable years\nthat followed she never saw the like of it again. \"I understand,\" said Margaret-- \"at least, I understand as much as ever\nis understood of these things. Tell me now what happened on the Monday\nmorning.\" \"It was over at once.\" \"How, Helen?\" \"I was still happy while I dressed, but as I came downstairs I got\nnervous, and when I went into the dining-room I knew it was no good. There was Evie--I can't explain--managing the tea-urn, and Mr. Wilcox\nreading the Times.\" \"Was Paul there?\" \"Yes; and Charles was talking to him about stocks and shares, and he\nlooked frightened.\" By slight indications the sisters could convey much to each other. Margaret saw horror latent in the scene, and Helen's next remark did not\nsurprise her. \"Somehow, when that kind of man looks frightened it is too awful. It is\nall right for us to be frightened, or for men of another sort--father,\nfor instance; but for men like that! When I saw all the others so\nplacid, and Paul mad with terror in case I said the wrong thing, I felt\nfor a moment that the whole Wilcox family was a fraud, just a wall of\nnewspapers and motor-cars and golf-clubs, and that if it fell I should\nfind nothing behind it but panic and emptiness.\" \"I don't think that. The Wilcoxes struck me as being genuine people,\nparticularly the wife.\" \"No, I don't really think that. But Paul was so broad-shouldered; all\nkinds of extraordinary things made it worse, and I knew that it would\nnever do--never. I said to him after breakfast, when the others were\npractising strokes, 'We rather lost our heads,' and he looked better\nat once, though frightfully ashamed. He began a speech about having no\nmoney to marry on, but it hurt him to make it, and I stopped him. Then\nhe said, 'I must beg your pardon over this, Miss Schlegel; I can't think\nwhat came over me last night.' And I said, 'Nor what over me; never\nmind.' And then we parted--at least, until I remembered that I had\nwritten straight off to tell you the night before, and that frightened\nhim again. I asked him to send a telegram for me, for he knew you would\nbe coming or something; and he tried to get hold of the motor, but\nCharles and Mr. Wilcox wanted it to go to the station; and Charles\noffered to send the telegram for me, and then I had to say that the\ntelegram was of no consequence, for Paul said Charles might read it, and\nthough I wrote it out several times, he always said people would suspect\nsomething. He took it himself at last, pretending that he must walk down\nto get cartridges, and, what with one thing and the other, it was not\nhanded in at the post-office until too late. It was the most terrible\nmorning. Paul disliked me more and more, and Evie talked cricket\naverages till I nearly screamed. I cannot think how I stood her all the\nother days. At last Charles and his father started for the station, and\nthen came your telegram warning me that Aunt Juley was coming by that\ntrain, and Paul--oh, rather horrible--said that I had muddled it. But\nMrs. Wilcox knew.\" \"Knew what?\" \"Everything; though we neither of us told her a word, and she had known\nall along, I think.\" \"Oh, she must have overheard you.\" \"I suppose so, but it seemed wonderful. When Charles and Aunt Juley\ndrove up, calling each other names, Mrs. Wilcox stepped in from the\ngarden and made everything less terrible. Ugh! but it has been a\ndisgusting business. To think that--\" She sighed. \"To think that because you and a young man meet for a moment, there must\nbe all these telegrams and anger,\" supplied Margaret. Helen nodded. \"I've often thought about it, Helen. It's one of the most interesting\nthings in the world. The truth is that there is a great outer life that\nyou and I have never touched--a life in which telegrams and anger count. Personal relations, that we think supreme, are not supreme there. There\nlove means marriage settlements, death, death duties. So far I'm clear. But here my difficulty. This outer life, though obviously horrid; often\nseems the real one--there's grit in it. It does breed character. Do\npersonal relations lead to sloppiness in the end?\" \"Oh, Meg--, that's what I felt, only not so clearly, when the Wilcoxes\nwere so competent, and seemed to have their hands on all the ropes.\" \"Don't you feel it now?\" \"I remember Paul at breakfast,\" said Helen quietly. \"I shall never\nforget him. He had nothing to fall back upon. I know that personal\nrelations are the real life, for ever and ever.\" \"Amen!\" So the Wilcox episode fell into the background, leaving behind it\nmemories of sweetness and horror that mingled, and the sisters pursued\nthe life that Helen had commended. They talked to each other and to\nother people, they filled the tall thin house at Wickham Place with\nthose whom they liked or could befriend. They even attended public\nmeetings. In their own fashion they cared deeply about politics, though\nnot as politicians would have us care; they desired that public\nlife should mirror whatever is good in the life within. Temperance,\ntolerance, and sexual equality were intelligible cries to them; whereas\nthey did not follow our Forward Policy in Tibet with the keen attention\nthat it merits, and would at times dismiss the whole British Empire with\na puzzled, if reverent, sigh. Not out of them are the shows of history\nerected: the world would be a grey, bloodless place were it composed\nentirely of Miss Schlegels. But the world being what it is, perhaps they\nshine out in it like stars. A word on their origin. They were not \"English to the back-bone,\" as\ntheir aunt had piously asserted. But, on the other hand, they were not\n\"Germans of the dreadful sort.\" Their father had belonged to a type that\nwas more prominent in Germany fifty years ago than now. He was not the\naggressive German, so dear to the English journalist, nor the domestic\nGerman, so dear to the English wit. If one classed him at all it would\nbe as the countryman of Hegel and Kant, as the idealist, inclined to be\ndreamy, whose Imperialism was the Imperialism of the air. Not that\nhis life had been inactive. He had fought like blazes against Denmark,\nAustria, France. But he had fought without visualising the results of\nvictory. A hint of the truth broke on him after Sedan, when he saw the\ndyed moustaches of Napoleon going grey; another when he entered Paris,\nand saw the smashed windows of the Tuileries. Peace came--it was all\nvery immense, one had turned into an Empire--but he knew that some\nquality had vanished for which not all Alsace-Lorraine could compensate\nhim.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Germany a commercial Power, Germany a naval Power, Germany with\ncolonies here and a Forward Policy there, and legitimate aspirations in\nthe other place, might appeal to others, and be fitly served by\nthem; for his own part, he abstained from the fruits of victory, and\nnaturalised himself in England. The more earnest members of his family\nnever forgave him, and knew that his children, though scarcely English\nof the dreadful sort, would never be German to the back-bone. He had\nobtained work in one of our provincial universities, and there married\nPoor Emily (or Die Englanderin, as the case may be), and as she had\nmoney, they proceeded to London, and came to know a good many people. But his gaze was always fixed beyond the sea. It was his hope that the\nclouds of materialism obscuring the Fatherland would part in time, and\nthe mild intellectual light re-emerge. \"Do you imply that we Germans are\nstupid, Uncle Ernst?\" exclaimed a haughty and magnificent nephew. Uncle\nErnst replied, \"To my mind. You use the intellect, but you no longer\ncare about it. That I call stupidity.\" As the haughty nephew did not\nfollow, he continued, \"You only care about the things that you can use,\nand therefore arrange them in the following order: Money, supremely\nuseful; intellect, rather useful; imagination, of no use at all. No\"--for the other had protested--\"your Pan-Germanism is no more\nimaginative than is our Imperialism over here. It is the vice of a\nvulgar mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand square\nmiles are a thousand times more wonderful than one square mile, and\nthat a million square miles are almost the same as heaven. That is\nnot imagination. No, it kills it. When their poets over here try to\ncelebrate bigness they are dead at once, and naturally. Your poets\ntoo are dying, your philosophers, your musicians, to whom Europe has\nlistened for two hundred years. Gone. Gone with the little courts that\nnurtured them--gone with Esterhazy and Weimar. What? What's that? Your\nuniversities? Oh yes, you have learned men, who collect more facts\nthan do the learned men of England. They collect facts, and facts, and\nempires of facts. But which of them will rekindle the light within?\" To all this Margaret listened, sitting on the haughty nephew's knee. It was a unique education for the little girls. The haughty nephew would\nbe at Wickham Place one day, bringing with him an even haughtier wife,\nboth convinced that Germany was appointed by God to govern the world. Aunt Juley would come the next day, convinced that Great Britain had\nbeen appointed to the same post by the same authority. Were both these\nloud-voiced parties right? On one occasion they had met and Margaret\nwith clasped hands had implored them to argue the subject out in her\npresence. Whereat they blushed, and began to talk about the weather. \"Papa,\" she cried--she was a most offensive child--\"why will they not\ndiscuss this most clear question?\" Her father, surveying the parties\ngrimly, replied that he did not know. Putting her head on one side,\nMargaret then remarked, \"To me one of two things is very clear; either\nGod does not know his own mind about England and Germany, or else these\ndo not know the mind of God.\" A hateful little girl, but at thirteen\nshe had grasped a dilemma that most people travel through life without\nperceiving. Her brain darted up and down; it grew pliant and strong. Her\nconclusion was, that any human being lies nearer to the unseen than any\norganisation, and from this she never varied. Helen advanced along the same lines, though with a more irresponsible\ntread. In character she resembled her sister, but she was pretty, and so\napt to have a more amusing time. People gathered round her more readily,\nespecially when they were new acquaintances, and she did enjoy a little\nhomage very much. When their father died and they ruled alone at Wickham\nPlace, she often absorbed the whole of the company, while Margaret--both\nwere tremendous talkers--fell flat. Neither sister bothered about this. Helen never apologised afterwards, Margaret did not feel the slightest\nrancour. But looks have their influence upon character. The sisters\nwere alike as little girls, but at the time of the Wilcox episode their\nmethods were beginning to diverge; the younger was rather apt to entice\npeople, and, in enticing them, to be herself enticed; the elder went\nstraight ahead, and accepted an occasional failure as part of the game. Little need be premised about Tibby. He was now an intelligent man of\nsixteen, but dyspeptic and difficile.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-11", "answer": "Helen Schlegel, Margaret Schlegel, Meg, Tibby Schlegel, Aunt Juley Munt, Mrs. Wilcox, Mr. Wilcox, Paul Wilcox, Charles Wilcox, Wilcox family, Schlegel family, Howards End, Wickham Place, King's Cross station, Hilton train station, country estate, garden, meadow, wych-elm, letters, women's suffrage, croquet, romance, engagement, telegram, secrecy, argument, Africa, deceased parents, impulsive love, brief affair, reality, consolation, family dynamics, Margaret's instructions, heated argument, Mrs. Wilcox's calm, separation, reunion, travel in Germany"}]