["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> As they were seated at Aunt Juley's breakfast-table at The Bays,\nparrying her excessive hospitality and enjoying the view of the bay, a\nletter came for Margaret and threw her into perturbation. It was from\nMr. Wilcox. It announced an \"important change\" in his plans. Owing to\nEvie's marriage, he had decided to give up his house in Ducie Street,\nand was willing to let it on a yearly tenancy. It was a businesslike\nletter, and stated frankly what he would do for them and what he would\nnot do. Also the rent. If they approved, Margaret was to come up AT\nONCE--the words were underlined, as is necessary when dealing with\nwomen--and to go over the house with him. If they disapproved, a wire\nwould oblige, as he should put it into the hands of an agent. The letter perturbed, because she was not sure what it meant. If he\nliked her, if he had manoeuvred to get her to Simpson's, might this be a\nmanoeuvre to get her to London, and result in an offer of marriage? She put it to herself as indelicately as possible, in the hope that her\nbrain would cry, \"Rubbish, you're a self-conscious fool!\" But her brain\nonly tingled a little and was silent, and for a time she sat gazing at\nthe mincing waves, and wondering whether the news would seem strange to\nthe others. As soon as she began speaking, the sound of her own voice reassured her. There could be nothing in it. The replies also were typical, and in the\nburr of conversation her fears vanished. \"You needn't go though--\" began her hostess. \"I needn't, but hadn't I better? It's really getting rather serious. We\nlet chance after chance slip, and the end of it is we shall be bundled\nout bag and baggage into the street. We don't know what we WANT, that's\nthe mischief with us--\"\n\n\"No, we have no real ties,\" said Helen, helping herself to toast. \"Shan't I go up to town to-day, take the house if it's the least\npossible, and then come down by the afternoon train to-morrow, and start\nenjoying myself. I shall be no fun to myself or to others until this\nbusiness is off my mind. \"But you won't do anything rash, Margaret?\" \"There's nothing rash to do.\" \"Who ARE the Wilcoxes?\" said Tibby, a question that sounds silly, but\nwas really extremely subtle as his aunt found to her cost when she tried\nto answer it. \"I don't MANAGE the Wilcoxes; I don't see where they come\nIN.\" \"No more do I,\" agreed Helen. \"It's funny that we just don't lose sight\nof them. Out of all our hotel acquaintances, Mr. Wilcox is the only one\nwho has stuck. It is now over three years, and we have drifted away from\nfar more interesting people in that time.\" \"Interesting people don't get one houses.\" \"Meg, if you start in your honest-English vein, I shall throw the\ntreacle at you.\" \"It's a better vein than the cosmopolitan,\" said Margaret, getting up. \"Now, children, which is it to be? You know the Ducie Street house. Shall I say yes or shall I say no? Tibby love--which? I'm specially\nanxious to pin you both.\" \"It all depends on what meaning you attach to the word 'possible'\"\n\n\"It depends on nothing of the sort. Say 'yes.'\" \"Say 'no.'\" Then Margaret spoke rather seriously. \"I think,\" she said, \"that our\nrace is degenerating. We cannot settle even this little thing; what will\nit be like when we have to settle a big one?\" \"It will be as easy as eating,\" returned Helen. \"I was thinking of father. How could he settle to leave Germany as he\ndid, when he had fought for it as a young man, and all his feelings\nand friends were Prussian? How could he break loose with Patriotism and\nbegin aiming at something else? It would have killed me. When he was\nnearly forty he could change countries and ideals--and we, at our age,\ncan't change houses. It's humiliating.\" \"Your father may have been able to change countries,\" said Mrs. Munt\nwith asperity, \"and that may or may not be a good thing. But he could\nchange houses no better than you can, in fact, much worse. Never shall I\nforget what poor Emily suffered in the move from Manchester.\" \"I knew it,\" cried Helen. \"I told you so. It is the little things one\nbungles at. The big, real ones are nothing when they come.\" \"Bungle, my dear! You are too little to recollect--in fact, you weren't\nthere. But the furniture was actually in the vans and on the move\nbefore the lease for Wickham Place was signed, and Emily took train with\nbaby--who was Margaret then--and the smaller luggage for London, without\nso much as knowing where her new home would be. Getting away from that\nhouse may be hard, but it is nothing to the misery that we all went\nthrough getting you into it.\" Helen, with her mouth full, cried:\n\n\"And that's the man who beat the Austrians, and the Danes, and the\nFrench, and who beat the Germans that were inside himself. And we're\nlike him.\" \"Speak for yourself,\" said Tibby. \"Remember that I am cosmopolitan,\nplease.\" \"Helen may be right.\" \"Of course she's right,\" said Helen. Helen might be right, but she did not go up to London. Margaret did\nthat. An interrupted holiday is the worst of the minor worries, and one\nmay be pardoned for feeling morbid when a business letter snatches one\naway from the sea and friends. She could not believe that her father had\never felt the same. Her eyes had been troubling her lately, so that she\ncould not read in the train and it bored her to look at the landscape,\nwhich she had seen but yesterday. At Southampton she \"waved\" to Frieda;\nFrieda was on her way down to join them at Swanage, and Mrs. Munt had\ncalculated that their trains would cross. But Frieda was looking the\nother way, and Margaret travelled on to town feeling solitary and\nold-maidish. How like an old maid to fancy that Mr. Wilcox was\ncourting her! She had once visited a spinster--poor, silly, and\nunattractive--whose mania it was that every man who approached her fell\nin love. How Margaret's heart had bled for the deluded thing! How she\nhad lectured, reasoned, and in despair acquiesced! \"I may have been\ndeceived by the curate, my dear, but the young fellow who brings the\nmidday post really is fond of me, and has, as a matter of fact--\" It had\nalways seemed to her the most hideous corner of old age, yet she might\nbe driven into it herself by the mere pressure of virginity. Mr. Wilcox met her at Waterloo himself. She felt certain that he was\nnot the same as usual; for one thing, he took offence at everything she\nsaid. \"This is awfully kind of you,\" she began, \"but I'm afraid it's not going\nto do. The house has not been built that suits the Schlegel family.\" \"What! Have you come up determined not to deal?\" \"Not exactly.\" \"Not exactly? In that case let's be starting.\" She lingered to admire the motor, which was new, and a fairer creature\nthan the vermilion giant that had borne Aunt Juley to her doom three\nyears before. \"Presumably it's very beautiful,\" she said. \"How do you like it, Crane?\" \"Come, let's be starting,\" repeated her host. \"How on earth did you know\nthat my chauffeur was called Crane?\" \"Why, I know Crane; I've been for a drive with Evie once. I know that\nyou've got a parlourmaid called Milton. I know all sorts of things.\" \"Evie!\" he echoed in injured tones. \"You won't see her. She's gone out\nwith Cahill. It's no fun, I can tell you, being left so much alone. I've\ngot my work all day--indeed, a great deal too much of it--but when I\ncome home in the evening, I tell you, I can't stand the house.\" \"In my absurd way, I'm lonely too,\" Margaret replied. \"It's\nheart-breaking to leave one's old home. I scarcely remember anything\nbefore Wickham Place, and Helen and Tibby were born there. Helen says--\"\n\n\"You, too, feel lonely?\" \"Horribly. Hullo, Parliament's back!\" Mr. Wilcox glanced at Parliament contemptuously. The more important\nropes of life lay elsewhere. \"Yes, they are talking again,\" said he. \"But you were going to say--\"\n\n\"Only some rubbish about furniture.\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 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Helen says it alone endures while\nmen and houses perish, and that in the end the world will be a desert of\nchairs and sofas--just imagine it!--rolling through infinity with no one\nto sit upon them.\" \"Your sister always likes her little joke.\" \"She says 'Yes,' my brother says `No,' to Ducie Street. It's no fun\nhelping us, Mr. Wilcox, I assure you.\" \"You are not as unpractical as you pretend. I shall never believe it.\" Margaret laughed. But she was--quite as unpractical. She could not\nconcentrate on details. Parliament, the Thames, the irresponsive\nchauffeur, would flash into the field of house-hunting, and all demand\nsome comment or response. It is impossible to see modern life steadily\nand see it whole, and she had chosen to see it whole. Mr. Wilcox saw\nsteadily. He never bothered over the mysterious or the private. The\nThames might run inland from the sea, the chauffeur might conceal all\npassion and philosophy beneath his unhealthy skin. They knew their own\nbusiness, and he knew his. Yet she liked being with him. He was not a rebuke, but a stimulus, and\nbanished morbidity. Some twenty years her senior, he preserved a gift\nthat she supposed herself to have already lost--not youth's creative\npower, but its self-confidence and optimism. He was so sure that it was\na very pleasant world. His complexion was robust, his hair had receded\nbut not thinned, the thick moustache and the eyes that Helen had\ncompared to brandy-balls had an agreeable menace in them, whether they\nwere turned towards the slums or towards the stars. Some day--in the\nmillennium--there may be no need for his type. At present, homage is due\nto it from those who think themselves superior, and who possibly are. \"At all events you responded to my telegram promptly,\" he remarked. \"Oh, even I know a good thing when I see it.\" \"I'm glad you don't despise the goods of this world.\" \"Heavens, no! Only idiots and prigs do that.\" \"I am glad, very glad,\" he repeated, suddenly softening and turning to\nher, as if the remark had pleased him. \"There is so much cant talked in\nwould-be intellectual circles. I am glad you don't share it. Self-denial\nis all very well as a means of strengthening the character. But I can't\nstand those people who run down comforts. They have usually some axe to\ngrind. Can you?\" \"Comforts are of two kinds,\" said Margaret, who was keeping herself in\nhand--\"those we can share with others, like fire, weather, or music; and\nthose we can't--food, food, for instance. It depends.\" \"I mean reasonable comforts, of course. I shouldn't like to think that\nyou--\" He bent nearer; the sentence died unfinished. Margaret's head\nturned very stupid, and the inside of it seemed to revolve like the\nbeacon in a lighthouse. He did not kiss her, for the hour was half-past\ntwelve, and the car was passing by the stables of Buckingham Palace. But\nthe atmosphere was so charged with emotion that people only seemed to\nexist on her account, and she was surprised that Crane did not realise\nthis, and turn round. Idiot though she might be, surely Mr. Wilcox was\nmore--how should one put it?--more psychological than usual. Always a\ngood judge of character for business purposes, he seemed this afternoon\nto enlarge his field, and to note qualities outside neatness, obedience,\nand decision. \"I want to go over the whole house,\" she announced when they arrived. \"As soon as I get back to Swanage, which will be to-morrow afternoon,\nI'll talk it over once more with Helen and Tibby, and wire you 'yes' or\n'no.'\" \"Right. The dining-room.\" And they began their survey. The dining-room was big, but over-furnished. Chelsea would have moaned\naloud. Mr. Wilcox had eschewed those decorative schemes that wince,\nand relent, and refrain, and achieve beauty by sacrificing comfort and\npluck. After so much self-colour and self-denial, Margaret viewed with\nrelief the sumptuous dado, the frieze, the gilded wall-paper, amid whose\nfoliage parrots sang. It would never do with her own furniture, but\nthose heavy chairs, that immense sideboard loaded with presentation\nplate, stood up against its pressure like men. The room suggested men,\nand Margaret, keen to derive the modern capitalist from the warriors and\nhunters of the past, saw it as an ancient guest-hall, where the lord sat\nat meat among his thanes. Even the Bible--the Dutch Bible that Charles\nhad brought back from the Boer War--fell into position. Such a room\nadmitted loot. \"Now the entrance-hall.\" The entrance-hall was paved. \"Here we fellows smoke.\" We fellows smoked in chairs of maroon leather. It was as if a motor-car\nhad spawned. \"Oh, jolly!\" said Margaret, sinking into one of them. \"You do like it?\" he said, fixing his eyes on her upturned face, and\nsurely betraying an almost intimate note. \"It's all rubbish not making\noneself comfortable. Isn't it?\" \"Ye--es. Semi-rubbish. Are those Cruikshanks?\" \"Gillrays. Shall we go on upstairs?\" \"Does all this furniture come from Howards End?\" \"The Howards End furniture has all gone to Oniton.\" \"Does--However, I'm concerned with the house, not the furniture. How big\nis this smoking-room?\" \"Thirty by fifteen. No, wait a minute. Fifteen and a half.\" \"Ah, well. Mr. Wilcox, aren't you ever amused at the solemnity with\nwhich we middle classes approach the subject of houses?\" They proceeded to the drawing-room. Chelsea managed better here. It was\nsallow and ineffective. One could visualise the ladies withdrawing\nto it, while their lords discussed life's realities below, to the\naccompaniment of cigars. Had Mrs. Wilcox's drawing-room at Howards End\nlooked thus? Just as this thought entered Margaret's brain, Mr. Wilcox\ndid ask her to be his wife, and the knowledge that she had been right so\novercame her that she nearly fainted. But the proposal was not to rank among the world's great love scenes. \"Miss Schlegel\"--his voice was firm--\"I have had you up on false\npretences. I want to speak about a much more serious matter than a\nhouse.\" Margaret almost answered: \"I know--\"\n\n\"Could you be induced to share my--is it probable--\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Wilcox!\" she interrupted, taking hold of the piano and averting\nher eyes. \"I see, I see. I will write to you afterwards if I may.\" He began to stammer. \"Miss Schlegel--Margaret you don't understand.\" \"Oh yes! Indeed, yes!\" said Margaret. \"I am asking you to be my wife.\" So deep already was her sympathy, that when he said, \"I am asking you\nto be my wife,\" she made herself give a little start. She must show\nsurprise if he expected it. An immense joy came over her. It was\nindescribable. It had nothing to do with humanity, and most resembled\nthe all-pervading happiness of fine weather. Fine weather is due to the\nsun, but Margaret could think of no central radiance here. She stood in\nhis drawing-room happy, and longing to give happiness. On leaving him\nshe realised that the central radiance had been love. \"You aren't offended, Miss Schlegel?\" \"How could I be offended?\" There was a moment's pause. He was anxious to get rid of her, and she\nknew it. She had too much intuition to look at him as he struggled for\npossessions that money cannot buy. He desired comradeship and affection,\nbut he feared them, and she, who had taught herself only to desire, and\ncould have clothed the struggle with beauty, held back, and hesitated\nwith him. \"Good-bye,\" she continued. \"You will have a letter from me--I am going\nback to Swanage to-morrow.\" \"Thank you.\" \"Good-bye, and it's you I thank.\" \"I may order the motor round, mayn't I?\" \"That would be most kind.\" \"I wish I had written. Ought I to have written?\" \"Not at all.\" \"There's just one question--\"\n\nShe shook her head. He looked a little bewildered as they parted. They parted without shaking hands; she had kept the interview, for his\nsake, in tints of the quietest grey. She thrilled with happiness ere\nshe reached her house.\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 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Others had loved her in the past, if one apply\nto their brief desires so grave a word, but the others had been\n\"ninnies\"--young men who had nothing to do, old men who could find\nnobody better. And she had often 'loved,' too, but only so far as\nthe facts of sex demanded: mere yearnings for the masculine sex to be\ndismissed for what they were worth, with a sigh. Never before had her\npersonality been touched. She was not young or very rich, and it amazed\nher that a man of any standing should take her seriously as she sat,\ntrying to do accounts in her empty house, amidst beautiful pictures and\nnoble books, waves of emotion broke, as if a tide of passion was flowing\nthrough the night air. She shook her head, tried to concentrate her\nattention, and failed. In vain did she repeat: \"But I've been through\nthis sort of thing before.\" She had never been through it; the big\nmachinery, as opposed to the little, had been set in motion, and the\nidea that Mr. Wilcox loved, obsessed her before she came to love him in\nreturn. She would come to no decision yet. \"Oh, sir, this is so sudden\"--that\nprudish phrase exactly expressed her when her time came. Premonitions\nare not preparation. She must examine more closely her own nature and\nhis; she must talk it over judicially with Helen. It had been a strange\nlove-scene--the central radiance unacknowledged from first to last. She,\nin his place, would have said Ich liebe dich, but perhaps it was not\nhis habit to open the heart. He might have done it if she had pressed\nhim--as a matter of duty, perhaps; England expects every man to open\nhis heart once; but the effort would have jarred him, and never, if\nshe could avoid it, should he lose those defences that he had chosen to\nraise against the world. He must never be bothered with emotional talk,\nor with a display of sympathy. He was an elderly man now, and it would\nbe futile and impudent to correct him. Mrs. Wilcox strayed in and out, ever a welcome ghost; surveying the\nscene, thought Margaret, without one hint of bitterness. If one wanted to show a foreigner England, perhaps the wisest course\nwould be to take him to the final section of the Purbeck Hills, and\nstand him on their summit, a few miles to the east of Corfe. Then system\nafter system of our island would roll together under his feet. Beneath\nhim is the valley of the Frome, and all the wild lands that come tossing\ndown from Dorchester, black and gold, to mirror their gorse in the\nexpanses of Poole. The valley of the Stour is beyond, unaccountable\nstream, dirty at Blandford, pure at Wimborne--the Stour, sliding out of\nfat fields, to marry the Avon beneath the tower of Christ church. The\nvalley of the Avon--invisible, but far to the north the trained eye may\nsee Clearbury Ring that guards it, and the imagination may leap beyond\nthat on to Salisbury Plain itself, and beyond the Plain to all the\nglorious downs of Central England. Nor is Suburbia absent. Bournemouth's\nignoble coast cowers to the right, heralding the pine-trees that mean,\nfor all their beauty, red houses, and the Stock Exchange, and extend to\nthe gates of London itself. So tremendous is the City's trail! But the\ncliffs of Freshwater it shall never touch, and the island will guard the\nIsland's purity till the end of time. Seen from the west the Wight is\nbeautiful beyond all laws of beauty. It is as if a fragment of England\nfloated forward to greet the foreigner--chalk of our chalk, turf of\nour turf, epitome of what will follow. And behind the fragment lies\nSouthampton, hostess to the nations, and Portsmouth, a latent fire, and\nall around it, with double and treble collision of tides, swirls the\nsea. How many villages appear in this view! How many castles! How many\nchurches, vanished or triumphant! How many ships, railways, and roads! What incredible variety of men working beneath that lucent sky to what\nfinal end! The reason fails, like a wave on the Swanage beach; the\nimagination swells, spreads, and deepens, until it becomes geographic\nand encircles England. So Frieda Mosebach, now Frau Architect Liesecke, and mother to her\nhusband's baby, was brought up to these heights to be impressed, and,\nafter a prolonged gaze, she said that the hills were more swelling\nhere than in Pomerania, which was true, but did not seem to Mrs. Munt\napposite. Poole Harbour was dry, which led her to praise the absence of\nmuddy foreshore at Friedrich Wilhelms Bad, Rugen, where beech-trees hang\nover the tideless Baltic, and cows may contemplate the brine. Rather\nunhealthy Mrs. Munt thought this would be, water being safer when it\nmoved about. \"And your English lakes--Vindermere, Grasmere they, then, unhealthy?\" \"No, Frau Liesecke; but that is because they are fresh water, and\ndifferent. Salt water ought to have tides, and go up and down a great\ndeal, or else it smells. Look, for instance, at an aquarium.\" \"An aquarium! Oh, MEESIS Munt, you mean to tell me that fresh aquariums\nstink less than salt? Why, then Victor, my brother-in-law, collected\nmany tadpoles--\" \"You are not to say 'stink,'\" interrupted Helen; \"at\nleast, you may say it, but you must pretend you are being funny while\nyou say it.\" \"Then 'smell.' And the mud of your Pool down there--does it not smell,\nor may I say 'stink,' ha, ha?\" \"There always has been mud in Poole Harbour,\" said Mrs. Munt, with\na slight frown. \"The rivers bring it down, and a most valuable\noyster-fishery depends upon it.\" \"Yes, that is so,\" conceded Frieda; and another international incident\nwas closed. \"'Bournemouth is,'\" resumed their hostess, quoting a local rhyme to\nwhich she was much attached--\"'Bournemouth is, Poole was, and Swanage\nis to be the most important town of all and biggest of the three.' Now,\nFrau Liesecke, I have shown you Bournemouth, and I have shown you Poole,\nso let us walk backward a little, and look down again at Swanage.\" \"Aunt Juley, wouldn't that be Meg's train?\" A tiny puff of smoke had been circling the harbour, and now was bearing\nsouthwards towards them over the black and the gold. \"Oh, dearest Margaret, I do hope she won't be overtired.\" \"Oh, I do wonder--I do wonder whether she's taken the house.\" \"I hope she hasn't been hasty.\" \"So do I--oh, SO do I.\" \"Will it be as beautiful as Wickham Place?\" Frieda asked. \"I should think it would. Trust Mr. Wilcox for doing himself proud. All\nthose Ducie Street houses are beautiful in their modern way, and I can't\nthink why he doesn't keep on with it. But it's really for Evie that he\nwent there, and now that Evie's going to be married--\"\n\n\"Ah!\" \"You've never seen Miss Wilcox, Frieda. How absurdly matrimonial you\nare!\" \"But sister to that Paul?\" \"Yes.\" \"And to that Charles,\" said Mrs. Munt with feeling. \"Oh, Helen, Helen,\nwhat a time that was!\" Helen laughed. \"Meg and I haven't got such tender hearts. If there's a\nchance of a cheap house, we go for it.\" \"Now look, Frau Liesecke, at my niece's train. You see, it is coming\ntowards us--coming, coming; and, when it gets to Corfe, it will actually\ngo THROUGH the downs, on which we are standing, so that, if we walk\nover, as I suggested, and look down on Swanage, we shall see it coming\non the other side. Shall we?\" Frieda assented, and in a few minutes they had crossed the ridge and\nexchanged the greater view for the lesser. Rather a dull valley lay\nbelow, backed by the slope of the coastward downs. They were looking\nacross the Isle of Purbeck and on to Swanage, soon to be the most\nimportant town of all, and ugliest of the three. Margaret's train\nreappeared as promised, and was greeted with approval by her aunt. It came to a standstill in the middle distance, and there it had been\nplanned that Tibby should meet her, and drive her, and a tea-basket, up\nto join them. \"You see,\" continued Helen to her cousin, \"the Wilcoxes collect houses\nas your Victor collects tadpoles.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> They have, one, Ducie Street; two,\nHowards End, where my great rumpus was; three, a country seat in\nShropshire; four, Charles has a house in Hilton; and five, another near\nEpsom; and six, Evie will have a house when she marries, and probably a\npied-a-terre in the country--which makes seven. Oh yes, and Paul a\nhut in Africa makes eight. I wish we could get Howards End. That was\nsomething like a dear little house! Didn't you think so, Aunt Juley?\" \"I had too much to do, dear, to look at it,\" said Mrs. Munt, with a\ngracious dignity. \"I had everything to settle and explain, and Charles\nWilcox to keep in his place besides. It isn't likely I should remember\nmuch. I just remember having lunch in your bedroom.\" \"Yes, so do I. But, oh dear, dear, how dreadful it all seems! And in the\nautumn there began that anti-Pauline movement--you, and Frieda, and\nMeg, and Mrs. Wilcox, all obsessed with the idea that I might yet marry\nPaul.\" \"You yet may,\" said Frieda despondently. Helen shook her head. \"The Great Wilcox Peril will never return. If I'm\ncertain of anything it's of that.\" \"One is certain of nothing but the truth of one's own emotions.\" The remark fell damply on the conversation. But Helen slipped her arm\nround her cousin, somehow liking her the better for making it. It was\nnot an original remark, nor had Frieda appropriated it passionately, for\nshe had a patriotic rather than a philosophic mind. Yet it betrayed that\ninterest in the universal which the average Teuton possesses and the\naverage Englishman does not. It was, however illogically, the good,\nthe beautiful, the true, as opposed to the respectable, the pretty,\nthe adequate. It was a landscape of Bocklin's beside a landscape of\nLeader's, strident and ill-considered, but quivering into supernatural\nlife. It sharpened idealism, stirred the soul. It may have been a bad\npreparation for what followed. \"Look!\" cried Aunt Juley, hurrying away from generalities over the\nnarrow summit of the down. \"Stand where I stand, and you will see the\npony-cart coming. I see the pony-cart coming.\" They stood and saw the pony-cart coming. Margaret and Tibby were\npresently seen coming in it. Leaving the outskirts of Swanage, it drove\nfor a little through the budding lanes, and then began the ascent. \"Have you got the house?\" they shouted, long before she could possibly\nhear. Helen ran down to meet her. The highroad passed over a saddle, and a\ntrack went thence at right angles alone the ridge of the down. \"Have you got the house?\" Margaret shook her head. \"Oh, what a nuisance! So we're as we were?\" \"Not exactly.\" She got out, looking tired. \"Some mystery,\" said Tibby. \"We are to be enlightened presently.\" Margaret came close up to her and whispered that she had had a proposal\nof marriage from Mr. Wilcox. Helen was amused. She opened the gate on to the downs so that her\nbrother might lead the pony through. \"It's just like a widower,\" she\nremarked. \"They've cheek enough for anything, and invariably select one\nof their first wife's friends.\" Margaret's face flashed despair. \"That type--\" She broke off with a cry. \"Meg, not anything wrong with\nyou?\" \"Wait one minute,\" said Margaret, whispering always. \"But you've never conceivably--you've never--\" She pulled herself\ntogether. \"Tibby, hurry up through; I can't hold this gate indefinitely. Aunt Juley! I say, Aunt Juley, make the tea, will you, and Frieda; we've\ngot to talk houses, and will come on afterwards.\" And then, turning her\nface to her sister's, she burst into tears. Margaret was stupefied. She heard herself saying, \"Oh, really--\" She\nfelt herself touched with a hand that trembled. \"Don't,\" sobbed Helen, \"don't, don't, Meg, don't!\" She seemed incapable\nof saying any other word. Margaret, trembling herself, led her forward\nup the road, till they strayed through another gate on to the down. \"Don't, don't do such a thing! I tell you not to--don't! I know--don't!\" \"What do you know?\" \"Panic and emptiness,\" sobbed Helen. \"Don't!\" Then Margaret thought, \"Helen is a little selfish. I have never behaved\nlike this when there has seemed a chance of her marrying.\" She said:\n\"But we would still see each other very--often, and you--\"\n\n\"It's not a thing like that,\" sobbed Helen. And she broke right away and\nwandered distractedly upwards, stretching her hands towards the view and\ncrying. \"What's happened to you?\" called Margaret, following through the wind\nthat gathers at sundown on the northern slopes of hills. \"But it's\nstupid!\" And suddenly stupidity seized her, and the immense landscape\nwas blurred. But Helen turned back. \"I don't know what's happened to either of us,\" said Margaret, wiping\nher eyes. \"We must both have done mad.\" Then Helen wiped hers, and they\neven laughed a little. \"Look here, sit down.\" \"All right; I'll sit down if you'll sit down.\" \"There. (One kiss.) Now, whatever, whatever is the matter?\" \"I do mean what I said. Don't; it wouldn't do.\" \"Oh, Helen, stop saying 'don't'! It's ignorant. It's as if your head\nwasn't out of the slime. 'Don't' is probably what Mrs. Bast says all the\nday to Mr. Bast.\" Helen was silent. \"Well?\" \"Tell me about it first, and meanwhile perhaps I'll have got my head out\nof the slime.\" \"That's better. Well, where shall I begin? When I arrived at\nWaterloo--no, I'll go back before that, because I'm anxious you should\nknow everything from the first. The 'first' was about ten days ago. It\nwas the day Mr. Bast came to tea and lost his temper. I was defending\nhim, and Mr. Wilcox became jealous about me, however slightly. I thought\nit was the involuntary thing, which men can't help any more than we can. You know--at least, I know in my own case--when a man has said to me,\n'So-and-so's a pretty girl,' I am seized with a momentary sourness\nagainst So-and-so, and long to tweak her ear. It's a tiresome feeling,\nbut not an important one, and one easily manages it. But it wasn't only\nthis in Mr. Wilcox's case, I gather now.\" \"Then you love him?\" Margaret considered. \"It is wonderful knowing that a real man cares for\nyou,\" she said. \"The mere fact of that grows more tremendous. Remember,\nI've known and liked him steadily for nearly three years.\" \"But loved him?\" Margaret peered into her past. It is pleasant to analyse feelings while\nthey are still only feelings, and unembodied in the social fabric. With\nher arm round Helen, and her eyes shifting over the view, as if this\ncountry or that could reveal the secret of her own heart, she meditated\nhonestly, and said, \"No.\" \"But you will?\" \"Yes,\" said Margaret, \"of that I'm pretty sure. Indeed, I began the\nmoment he spoke to me.\" \"And have settled to marry him?\" \"I had, but am wanting a long talk about it now. What is it against him,\nHelen? You must try and say.\" Helen, in her turn, looked outwards. \"It is ever since Paul,\" she said\nfinally. \"But what has Mr. Wilcox to do with Paul?\" \"But he was there, they were all there that morning when I came down\nto breakfast, and saw that Paul was frightened--the man who loved me\nfrightened and all his paraphernalia fallen, so that I knew it was\nimpossible, because personal relations are the important thing for ever\nand ever, and not this outer life of telegrams and anger.\" She poured the sentence forth in one breath, but her sister understood\nit, because it touched on thoughts that were familiar between them. \"That's foolish. In the first place, I disagree about the outer life. Well, we've often argued that. The real point is that there is the\nwidest gulf between my love-making and yours. Yours was romance; mine\nwill be prose. I'm not running it down--a very good kind of prose, but\nwell considered, well thought out. For instance, I know all Mr. Wilcox's\nfaults. He's afraid of emotion.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, 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> He cares too much about success, too\nlittle about the past. His sympathy lacks poetry, and so isn't sympathy\nreally. I'd even say \"--she looked at the shining lagoons--\"that,\nspiritually, he's not as honest as I am. Doesn't that satisfy you?\" \"No, it doesn't,\" said Helen. \"It makes me feel worse and worse. You\nmust be mad.\" Margaret made a movement of irritation. \"I don't intend him, or any man or any woman, to be all my life--good\nheavens, no! There are heaps of things in me that he doesn't, and shall\nnever, understand.\" Thus she spoke before the wedding ceremony and the physical union,\nbefore the astonishing glass shade had fallen that interposes between\nmarried couples and the world. She was to keep her independence more\nthan do most women as yet. Marriage was to alter her fortunes rather\nthan her character, and she was not far wrong in boasting that she\nunderstood her future husband. Yet he did alter her character--a little. There was an unforeseen surprise, a cessation of the winds and odours of\nlife, a social pressure that would have her think conjugally. \"So with him,\" she continued. \"There are heaps of things in him--more\nespecially things that he does that will always be hidden from me. He\nhas all those public qualities which you so despise and which enable all\nthis--\" She waved her hand at the landscape, which confirmed anything. \"If Wilcoxes hadn't worked and died in England for thousands of years,\nyou and I couldn't sit here without having our throats cut. There would\nbe no trains, no ships to carry us literary people about in, no fields\neven. Just savagery. No--perhaps not even that. Without their spirit\nlife might never have moved out of protoplasm. More and more do I refuse\nto draw my income and sneer at those who guarantee it. There are times\nwhen it seems to me--\"\n\n\"And to me, and to all women. So one kissed Paul.\" \"That's brutal.\" said 'Margaret. \"Mine is an absolutely different case. I've thought things out.\" \"It makes no difference thinking things out. They come to the same.\" \"Rubbish!\" There was a long silence, during which the tide returned into Poole\nHarbour. \"One would lose something,\" murmured Helen, apparently to\nherself. The water crept over the mud-flats towards the gorse and the\nblackened heather. Branksea Island lost its immense foreshores, and\nbecame a sombre episode of trees. Frome was forced inward towards\nDorchester, Stour against Wimborne, Avon towards Salisbury, and over the\nimmense displacement the sun presided, leading it to triumph ere he sank\nto rest. England was alive, throbbing through all her estuaries, crying\nfor joy through the mouths of all her gulls, and the north wind, with\ncontrary motion, blew stronger against her rising seas. What did it\nmean? For what end are her fair complexities, her changes of soil, her\nsinuous coast? Does she belong to those who have moulded her and made\nher feared by other lands, or to those who have added nothing to her\npower, but have somehow seen her, seen the whole island at once, lying\nas a jewel in a silver sea, sailing as a ship of souls, with all the\nbrave world's fleet accompanying her towards eternity? Margaret had often wondered at the disturbance that takes place in the\nworld's waters, when Love, who seems so tiny a pebble, slips in. Whom\ndoes Love concern beyond the beloved and the lover? Yet his impact\ndeluges a hundred shores. No doubt the disturbance is really the spirit\nof the generations, welcoming the new generation, and chafing against\nthe ultimate Fate, who holds all the seas in the palm of her hand. But\nLove cannot understand this. He cannot comprehend another's infinity; he\nis conscious only of his own--flying sunbeam, falling rose, pebble that\nasks for one quiet plunge below the fretting interplay of space and\ntime. He knows that he will survive at the end of things, and be\ngathered by Fate as a jewel from the slime, and be handed with\nadmiration round the assembly of the gods. \"Men did produce this\"\nthey will say, and, saying, they will give men immortality. But\nmeanwhile--what agitations meanwhile! The foundations of Property and\nPropriety are laid bare, twin rocks; Family Pride flounders to the\nsurface, puffing and blowing and refusing to be comforted; Theology,\nvaguely ascetic, gets up a nasty ground swell. Then the lawyers are\naroused--cold brood--and creep out of their holes. They do what they\ncan; they tidy up Property and Propriety, reassure Theology and Family\nPride. Half-guineas are poured on the troubled waters, the lawyers creep\nback, and, if all has gone well, Love joins one man and woman together\nin Matrimony. Margaret had expected the disturbance, and was not irritated by it. For a sensitive woman she had steady nerves, and could bear with the\nincongruous and the grotesque; and, besides, there was nothing excessive\nabout her love-affair. Good-humour was the dominant note of her\nrelations with Mr. Wilcox, or, as I must now call him, Henry. Henry\ndid not encourage romance, and she was no girl to fidget for it. An\nacquaintance had become a lover, might become a husband, but would\nretain all that she had noted in the acquaintance; and love must confirm\nan old relation rather than reveal a new one. In this spirit she promised to marry him. He was in Swanage on the morrow bearing the engagement ring. They greeted one another with a hearty cordiality that impressed\nAunt Juley. Henry dined at The Bays, but had engaged a bedroom in the\nprincipal hotel; he was one of those men who know the principal hotel by\ninstinct. After dinner he asked Margaret if she wouldn't care for a turn\non the Parade. She accepted, and could not repress a little tremor; it\nwould be her first real love scene. But as she put on her hat she burst\nout laughing. Love was so unlike the article served up in books; the\njoy, though genuine was different; the mystery an unexpected mystery. For one thing, Mr. Wilcox still seemed a stranger. For a time they talked about the ring; then she said: \"Do you remember\nthe Embankment at Chelsea? It can't be ten days ago.\" \"Yes,\" he said, laughing. \"And you and your sister were head and ears\ndeep in some Quixotic scheme. Ah well!\" \"I little thought then, certainly. Did you?\" \"I don't know about that; I shouldn't like to say.\" \"Why, was it earlier?\" she cried. \"Did you think of me this way earlier! How extraordinarily interesting, Henry! Tell me.\" But Henry had no intention of telling. Perhaps he could not have told,\nfor his mental states became obscure as soon as he had passed through\nthem. He misliked the very word \"interesting,\" connoting it with wasted\nenergy and even with morbidity. Hard facts were enough for him. \"I didn't think of it,\" she pursued. \"No; when you spoke to me in the\ndrawing-room, that was practically the first. It was all so different\nfrom what it's supposed to be. On the stage, or in books, a proposal\nis--how shall I put it?--a full-blown affair, a hind of bouquet;\nit loses its literal meaning. But in life a proposal really is a\nproposal--\"\n\n\"By the way--\"\n\n\"Oh, very well.\" \"I am so glad,\" she answered, a little surprised. \"What did you talk\nabout? Me, presumably.\" \"About Greece too.\" \"Greece was a very good card, Henry. Tibby's only a boy still, and one\nhas to pick and choose subjects a little. Well done.\" \"I was telling him I have shares in a currant-farm near Calamata.\" \"What a delightful thing to have shares in! Can't we go there for our\nhoneymoon?\" \"What to do?\" \"To eat the currants. And isn't there marvellous scenery?\" \"Moderately, but it's not the kind of place one could possibly go to\nwith a lady.\" \"Why not?\" \"No hotels.\" \"Some ladies do without hotels. Are you aware that Helen and I have\nwalked alone over the Apennines, with our luggage on our backs?\" \"I wasn't aware, and, if I can manage it, you will never do such a thing\nagain.\" She said more gravely: \"You haven't found time for a talk with Helen\nyet, I suppose?\" \"No.\" \"Do, before you go. I am so anxious you two should be friends.\" \"Your sister and I have always hit it off,\" he said negligently. \"But\nwe're drifting away from our business.\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 2024-01-10 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Let me begin at the beginning. You know that Evie is going to marry Percy Cahill.\" \"Dolly's uncle.\" \"Exactly. The girl's madly in love with him. A very good sort of fellow,\nbut he demands--and rightly--a suitable provision with her. And in the\nsecond place you will naturally understand, there is Charles. Before\nleaving town, I wrote Charles a very careful letter. You see, he has\nan increasing family and increasing expenses, and the I. and W. A. is\nnothing particular just now, though capable of development.\" \"Poor fellow!\" murmured Margaret, looking out to sea, and not\nunderstanding. \"Charles being the elder son, some day Charles will have Howards End;\nbut I am anxious, in my own happiness, not to be unjust to others.\" \"Of course not,\" she began, and then gave a little cry. \"you mean money. How stupid I am! Of course not!\" Oddly enough, he winced a little at the word. \"Yes, Money, since you put\nit so frankly. I am determined to be just to all--just to you, just to\nthem. I am determined that my children shall have me.\" \"Be generous to them,\" she said sharply. \"Bother justice!\" \"I am determined--and have already written to Charles to that effect--\"\n\n\"But how much have you got?\" \"What?\" \"How much have you a year? I've six hundred.\" \"My income?\" \"Yes. We must begin with how much you have, before we can settle how\nmuch you can give Charles. Justice, and even generosity, depend on\nthat.\" \"I must say you're a downright young woman,\" he observed, patting her\narm and laughing a little. \"What a question to spring on a fellow!\" \"Don't you know your income? Or don't you want to tell it me?\" \"I--\"\n\n\"That's all right\"--now she patted him--\"don't tell me. I don't want to\nknow. I can do the sum just as well by proportion. Divide your income\ninto ten parts. How many parts would you give to Evie, how many to\nCharles, how many to Paul?\" \"The fact is, my dear, I hadn't any intention of bothering you with\ndetails. I only wanted to let you know that--well, that something must\nbe done for the others, and you've understood me perfectly, so let's\npass on to the next point.\" \"Yes, we've settled that,\" said Margaret, undisturbed by his strategic\nblunderings. \"Go ahead; give away all you can, bearing in mind that I've\na clear six hundred. What a mercy it is to have all this money about\none.\" \"We've none too much, I assure you; you're marrying a poor man.\" \"Helen wouldn't agree with me here,\" she continued. \"Helen daren't slang\nthe rich, being rich herself, but she would like to. There's an odd\nnotion, that I haven't yet got hold of, running about at the back of her\nbrain, that poverty is somehow 'real.' She dislikes all organisation,\nand probably confuses wealth with the technique of wealth. Sovereigns in\na stocking wouldn't bother her; cheques do. Helen is too relentless. One\ncan't deal in her high-handed manner with the world.\" \"There's this other point, and then I must go back to my hotel and write\nsome letters. What's to be done now about the house in Ducie Street?\" \"Keep it on--at least, it depends. When do you want to marry me?\" She raised her voice, as too often, and some youths, who were also\ntaking the evening air, overheard her. \"Getting a bit hot, eh?\" said\none. Mr. Wilcox turned on them, and said sharply, \"I say!\" There was\nsilence. \"Take care I don't report you to the police.\" They moved away\nquietly enough, but were only biding their time, and the rest of the\nconversation was punctuated by peals of ungovernable laughter. Lowering his voice and infusing a hint of reproof into it, he said:\n\"Evie will probably be married in September. We could scarcely think of\nanything before then.\" \"The earlier the nicer, Henry. Females are not supposed to say such\nthings, but the earlier the nicer.\" \"How about September for us too?\" he asked, rather dryly. \"Right. Shall we go into Ducie Street ourselves in September? Or shall\nwe try to bounce Helen and Tibby into it? That's rather an idea. They\nare so unbusinesslike, we could make them do anything by judicious\nmanagement. Look here--yes. We'll do that. And we ourselves could live\nat Howards End or Shropshire.\" He blew out his cheeks. \"Heavens! how you women do fly round! My head's\nin a whirl. Point by point, Margaret. Howards End's impossible. I let\nit to Hamar Bryce on a three years' agreement last March. Don't you\nremember? Oniton. Well, that is much, much too far away to rely on\nentirely. You will be able to be down there entertaining a certain\namount, but we must have a house within easy reach of Town. Only Ducie\nStreet has huge drawbacks. There's a mews behind.\" Margaret could not help laughing. It was the first she had heard of\nthe mews behind Ducie Street. When she was a possible tenant it had\nsuppressed itself, not consciously, but automatically. The breezy\nWilcox manner, though genuine, lacked the clearness of vision that is\nimperative for truth. When Henry lived in Ducie Street he remembered\nthe mews; when he tried to let he forgot it; and if any one had remarked\nthat the mews must be either there or not, he would have felt annoyed,\nand afterwards have found some opportunity of stigmatising the speaker\nas academic. So does my grocer stigmatise me when I complain of the\nquality of his sultanas, and he answers in one breath that they are the\nbest sultanas, and how can I expect the best sultanas at that price? It\nis a flaw inherent in the business mind, and Margaret may do well to\nbe tender to it, considering all that the business mind has done for\nEngland. \"Yes, in summer especially, the mews is a serious nuisance. The\nsmoking-room, too, is an abominable little den. The house opposite\nhas been taken by operatic people. Ducie Street's going down, it's my\nprivate opinion.\" \"How sad! It's only a few years since they built those pretty houses.\" \"Shows things are moving. Good for trade.\" \"I hate this continual flux of London. It is an epitome of us at\nour worst--eternal formlessness; all the qualities, good, bad, and\nindifferent, streaming away--streaming, streaming for ever. That's why I\ndread it so. I mistrust rivers, even in scenery. Now, the sea--\"\n\n\"High tide, yes.\" \"Hoy toid\"--from the promenading youths. \"And these are the men to whom we give the vote,\" observed Mr. Wilcox,\nomitting to add that they were also the men to whom he gave work as\nclerks--work that scarcely encouraged them to grow into other men. \"However, they have their own lives and interests. Let's get on.\" He turned as he spoke, and prepared to see her back to The Bays. The\nbusiness was over. His hotel was in the opposite direction, and if he\naccompanied her his letters would be late for the post. She implored him\nnot to come, but he was obdurate. \"A nice beginning, if your aunt saw you slip in alone!\" \"But I always do go about alone. Considering I've walked over the\nApennines, it's common sense. You will make me so angry. I don't the\nleast take it as a compliment.\" He laughed, and lit a cigar. \"It isn't meant as a compliment, my dear. I\njust won't have you going about in the dark. Such people about too! It's\ndangerous.\" \"Can't I look after myself? I do wish--\"\n\n\"Come along, Margaret; no wheedling.\" A younger woman might have resented his masterly ways, but Margaret\nhad too firm a grip of life to make a fuss. She was, in her own way, as\nmasterly. If he was a fortress she was a mountain peak, whom all might\ntread, but whom the snows made nightly virginal. Disdaining the heroic\noutfit, excitable in her methods, garrulous, episodical, shrill,\nshe misled her lover much as she had misled her aunt. He mistook her\nfertility for Weakness.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-10, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-12 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He supposed her \"as clever as they make them,\"\nbut no more, not realising that she was penetrating to the depths of his\nsoul, and approving of what she found there. And if insight were sufficient, if the inner life were the whole of\nlife, their happiness had been assured. They walked ahead briskly. The parade and the road after it were well\nlighted, but it was darker in Aunt Juley's garden. As they were going\nup by the side-paths, through some rhododendrons, Mr. Wilcox, who was\nin front, said \"Margaret\" rather huskily, turned, dropped his cigar, and\ntook her in his arms. She was startled, and nearly screamed, but recovered herself at once,\nand kissed with genuine love the lips that were pressed against her own. It was their first kiss, and when it was over he saw her safely to the\ndoor and rang the bell for her but disappeared into the night before the\nmaid answered it. On looking back, the incident displeased her. It was\nso isolated. Nothing in their previous conversation had heralded it,\nand, worse still, no tenderness had ensued. If a man cannot lead up to\npassion he can at all events lead down from it, and she had hoped,\nafter her complaisance, for some interchange of gentle words. But he had\nhurried away as if ashamed, and for an instant she was reminded of Helen\nand Paul. Charles had just been scolding his Dolly. She deserved the scolding, and\nhad bent before it, but her head, though bloody was unsubdued and her\nbegan to mingle with his retreating thunder. \"You've waked the baby. I knew you would. (Rum-ti-foo,\nRackety-tackety-Tompkin!) I'm not responsible for what Uncle Percy does,\nnor for anybody else or anything, so there!\" \"Who asked him while I was away? Who asked my sister down to meet him? Who sent them out in the motor day after day?\" \"Charles, that reminds me of some poem.\" \"Does it indeed? We shall all be dancing to a very different music\npresently. Miss Schlegel has fairly got us on toast.\" \"I could simply scratch that woman's eyes out, and to say it's my fault\nis most unfair.\" \"It's your fault, and five months ago you admitted it.\" \"I didn't.\" \"You did.\" \"Tootle, tootle, playing on the pootle!\" exclaimed Dolly, suddenly\ndevoting herself to the child. \"It's all very well to turn the conversation, but father would\nnever have dreamt of marrying as long as Evie was there to make him\ncomfortable. But you must needs start match-making. Besides, Cahill's\ntoo old.\" \"Of course, if you're going to be rude to Uncle Percy.\" \"Miss Schlegel always meant to get hold of Howards End, and, thanks to\nyou, she's got it.\" \"I call the way you twist things round and make them hang together most\nunfair. You couldn't have been nastier if you'd caught me flirting. Could he, diddums?\" \"We're in a bad hole, and must make the best of it. I shall answer the\npater's letter civilly. He's evidently anxious to do the decent thing. But I do not intend to forget these Schlegels in a hurry. As long\nas they're on their best behaviour--Dolly, are you listening?--we'll\nbehave, too. But if I find them giving themselves airs or monopolising\nmy father, or at all ill-treating him, or worrying him with their\nartistic beastliness, I intend to put my foot down, yes, firmly. Taking\nmy mother's place! Heaven knows what poor old Paul will say when the\nnews reaches him.\" The interlude closes. It has taken place in Charles's garden at Hilton. He and Dolly are sitting in deckchairs, and their motor is regarding\nthem placidly from its garage across the lawn. A short-frocked edition\nof Charles also regards them placidly; a perambulator edition is\nsqueaking; a third edition is expected shortly. Nature is turning out\nWilcoxes in this peaceful abode, so that they may inherit the earth. Margaret greeted her lord with peculiar tenderness on the morrow. Mature\nas he was, she might yet be able to help him to the building of the\nrainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts,\nunconnected arches that have never joined into a man. With it love is\nborn, and alights on the highest curve, glowing against the grey, sober\nagainst the fire. Happy the man who sees from either aspect the glory of\nthese outspread wings. The roads of his soul lie clear, and he and his\nfriends shall find easy-going. It was hard-going in the roads of Mr. Wilcox's soul. From boyhood he\nhad neglected them. \"I am not a fellow who bothers about my own inside.\" Outwardly he was cheerful, reliable, and brave; but within, all\nhad reverted to chaos, ruled, so far as it was ruled at all, by an\nincomplete asceticism. Whether as boy, husband, or widower, he had\nalways the sneaking belief that bodily passion is bad, a belief that is\ndesirable only when held passionately. Religion had confirmed him. The\nwords that were read aloud on Sunday to him and to other respectable men\nwere the words that had once kindled the souls of St. Catherine and St.\nFrancis into a white-hot hatred of the carnal. He could not be as the\nsaints and love the Infinite with a seraphic ardour, but he could be a\nlittle ashamed of loving a wife. Amabat, amare timebat. And it was here\nthat Margaret hoped to help him. It did not seem so difficult. She need trouble him with no gift of her\nown. She would only point out the salvation that was latent in his own\nsoul, and in the soul of every man. Only connect! That was the whole\nof her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be\nexalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no\nlonger. Only connect and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation\nthat is life to either, will die. Nor was the message difficult to give. It need not take the form of a\ngood \"talking.\" By quiet indications the bridge would be built and span\ntheir lives with beauty. But she failed. For there was one quality in Henry for which she was\nnever prepared, however much she reminded herself of it: his obtuseness. He simply did not notice things, and there was no more to be said. He\nnever noticed that Helen and Frieda were hostile, or that Tibby was\nnot interested in currant plantations; he never noticed the lights and\nshades that exist in the greyest conversation, the finger-posts, the\nmilestones, the collisions, the illimitable views. Once--on another\noccasion--she scolded him about it. He was puzzled, but replied with a\nlaugh: \"My motto is Concentrate. I've no intention of frittering away\nmy strength on that sort of thing.\" \"It isn't frittering away the\nstrength,\" she protested. \"It's enlarging the space in which you may\nbe strong.\" He answered: \"You're a clever little woman, but my motto's\nConcentrate.\" And this morning he concentrated with a vengeance. They met in the rhododendrons of yesterday. In the daylight the bushes\nwere inconsiderable and the path was bright in the morning sun. She was\nwith Helen, who had been ominously quiet since the affair was settled. \"Here we all are!\" she cried, and took him by one hand, retaining her\nsister's in the other. \"Here we are. Good-morning, Helen.\" Helen replied, \"Good-morning, Mr. Wilcox.\" \"Henry, she has had such a nice letter from the queer, cross boy. Do\nyou remember him? He had a sad moustache, but the back of his head was\nyoung.\" \"I have had a letter too. Not a nice one--I want to talk it over with\nyou\"; for Leonard Bast was nothing to him now that she had given him her\nword; the triangle of sex was broken for ever. \"Thanks to your hint, he's clearing out of the Porphyrion.\" \"Not a bad business that Porphyrion,\" he said absently, as he took his\nown letter out of his pocket. \"Not a BAD--\" she exclaimed, dropping his hand. \"Surely, on Chelsea\nEmbankment--\"\n\n\"Here's our hostess. Good-morning, Mrs. Munt. Fine rhododendrons. Good-morning, Frau Liesecke; we manage to grow flowers in England, don't\nwe?\" \"Not a BAD business?\" \"No. My letter's about Howards End.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-12, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Bryce has been ordered abroad, and\nwants to sublet it--I am far from sure that I shall give him permission. There was no clause in the agreement. In my opinion, subletting is a\nmistake. If he can find me another tenant, whom I consider suitable,\nI may cancel the agreement. Morning, Schlegel. Don't you think that's\nbetter than subletting?\" Helen had dropped her hand now, and he had steered her past the whole\nparty to the seaward side of the house. Beneath them was the bourgeois\nlittle bay, which must have yearned all through the centuries for just\nsuch a watering-place as Swanage to be built on its margin. The waves were colourless, and the Bournemouth steamer gave a further\ntouch of insipidity, drawn up against the pier and hooting wildly for\nexcursionists. \"When there is a sublet I find that damage--\"\n\n\"Do excuse me, but about the Porphyrion. I don't feel easy--might I just\nbother you, Henry?\" Her manner was so serious that he stopped, and asked her a little\nsharply what she wanted. \"You said on Chelsea Embankment, surely, that it was a bad concern, so\nwe advised this clerk to clear out. He writes this morning that he's\ntaken our advice, and now you say it's not a bad concern.\" \"A clerk who clears out of any concern, good or bad, without securing a\nberth somewhere else first, is a fool, and I've no pity for him.\" \"He has not done that. He's going into a bank in Camden Town, he says. The salary's much lower, but he hopes to manage--a branch of Dempster's\nBank. Is that all right?\" \"Dempster! Why goodness me, yes.\" \"More right than the Porphyrion?\" \"Yes, yes, yes; safe as houses--safer.\" \"Very many thanks. I'm sorry--if you sublet--?\" \"If he sublets, I shan't have the same control. In theory there should\nbe no more damage done at Howards End; in practice there will be. Things\nmay be done for which no money can compensate. For instance, I shouldn't\nwant that fine wych-elm spoilt. It hangs--Margaret, we must go and see\nthe old place some time. It's pretty in its way. We'll motor down and\nhave lunch with Charles.\" \"I should enjoy that,\" said Margaret bravely. \"What about next Wednesday?\" \"Wednesday? No, I couldn't well do that. Aunt Juley expects us to stop\nhere another week at least.\" \"But you can give that up now.\" \"Er--no,\" said Margaret, after a moment's thought. \"Oh, that'll be all right. I'll speak to her.\" \"This visit is a high solemnity. My aunt counts on it year after\nyear. She turns the house upside down for us; she invites our special\nfriends--she scarcely knows Frieda, and we can't leave her on her hands. I missed one day, and she would be so hurt if I didn't stay the full\nten.\" \"But I'll say a word to her. Don't you bother.\" \"Henry, I won't go. Don't bully me.\" \"You want to see the house, though?\" \"Very much--I've heard so much about it, one way or the other. Aren't\nthere pigs' teeth in the wych-elm?\" \"PIGS TEETH?\" \"And you chew the bark for toothache.\" \"What a rum notion! Of course not!\" \"Perhaps I have confused it with some other tree. There are still a\ngreat number of sacred trees in England, it seems.\" But he left her to intercept Mrs. Munt, whose voice could be heard in\nthe distance; to be intercepted himself by Helen. \"Oh. Mr. Wilcox, about the Porphyrion--\" she began and went scarlet all\nover her face. \"It's all right,\" called Margaret, catching them up. \"Dempster's Bank's\nbetter.\" \"But I think you told us the Porphyrion was bad, and would smash before\nChristmas.\" \"Did I? It was still outside the Tariff Ring, and had to take rotten\npolicies. Lately it came in--safe as houses now.\" \"In other words, Mr. Bast need never have left it.\" \"No, the fellow needn't.\" \"--and needn't have started life elsewhere at a greatly reduced salary.\" \"He only says 'reduced,'\" corrected Margaret, seeing trouble ahead. \"With a man so poor, every reduction must be great. I consider it a\ndeplorable misfortune.\" Mr. Wilcox, intent on his business with Mrs. Munt, was going steadily\non, but the last remark made him say: \"What? What's that? Do you mean\nthat I'm responsible?\" \"You're ridiculous, Helen.\" \"You seem to think--\" He looked at his watch. \"Let me explain the point\nto you. It is like this. You seem to assume, when a business concern is\nconducting a delicate negotiation, it ought to keep the public informed\nstage by stage. The Porphyrion, according to you, was bound to say, 'I\nam trying all I can to get into the Tariff Ring. I am not sure that\nI shall succeed, but it is the only thing that will save me from\ninsolvency, and I am trying.' My dear Helen--\"\n\n\"Is that your point? A man who had little money has less--that's mine.\" \"I am grieved for your clerk. But it is all in the days work. It's part\nof the battle of life.\" \"A man who had little money--\" she repeated, \"has less, owing to\nus. Under these circumstances I consider 'the battle of life' a happy\nexpression. \"Oh come, come!\" he protested pleasantly, \"you're not to blame. No one's\nto blame.\" \"Is no one to blame for anything?\" \"I wouldn't say that, but you're taking it far too seriously. Who is\nthis fellow?\" \"We have told you about the fellow twice already,\" said Helen. \"You\nhave even met the fellow. He is very poor and his wife is an\nextravagant imbecile. He is capable of better things. We--we, the upper\nclasses--thought we would help him from the height of our superior\nknowledge--and here's the result!\" He raised his finger. \"Now, a word of advice.\" \"I require no more advice.\" \"A word of advice. Don't take up that sentimental attitude over the\npoor. See that she doesn't, Margaret. The poor are poor, and one's sorry\nfor them, but there it is. As civilisation moves forward, the shoe is\nbound to pinch in places, and it's absurd to pretend that any one is\nresponsible personally. Neither you, nor I, nor my informant, nor the\nman who informed him, nor the directors of the Porphyrion, are to blame\nfor this clerk's loss of salary. It's just the shoe pinching--no one can\nhelp it; and it might easily have been worse.\" Helen quivered with indignation. \"By all means subscribe to charities--subscribe to them largely--but\ndon't get carried away by absurd schemes of Social Reform. I see a good\ndeal behind the scenes, and you can take it from me that there is no\nSocial Question--except for a few journalists who try to get a living\nout of the phrase. There are just rich and poor, as there always have\nbeen and always will be. Point me out a time when men have been equal--\"\n\n\"I didn't say--\"\n\n\"Point me out a time when desire for equality has made them happier. No,\nno. You can't. There always have been rich and poor. I'm no fatalist. Heaven forbid! But our civilisation is moulded by great impersonal\nforces\" (his voice grew complacent; it always did when he eliminated the\npersonal), \"and there always will be rich and poor. You can't deny it\"\n(and now it was a respectful voice)--\"and you can't deny that, in spite\nof all, the tendency of civilisation has on the whole been upward.\" \"Owing to God, I suppose,\" flashed Helen. He stared at her. \"You grab the dollars. God does the rest.\" It was no good instructing the girl if she was going to talk about God\nin that neurotic modern way. Fraternal to the last, he left her for\nthe quieter company of Mrs. Munt. He thought, \"She rather reminds me of\nDolly.\" Helen looked out at the sea. \"Don't ever discuss political economy with Henry,\" advised her sister. \"It'll only end in a cry.\" \"But he must be one of those men who have reconciled science with\nreligion,\" said Helen slowly. \"I don't like those men.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-18 The user is reading a book]\n<User> They are\nscientific themselves, and talk of the survival of the fittest, and cut\ndown the salaries of their clerks, and stunt the independence of all who\nmay menace their comfort, but yet they believe that somehow good--it\nis always that sloppy 'somehow' will be the outcome, and that in some\nmystical way the Mr. Basts of the future will benefit because the Mr.\nBrits of today are in pain.\" \"He is such a man in theory. But oh, Helen, in theory!\" \"But oh, Meg, what a theory!\" \"Why should you put things so bitterly, dearie?\" \"Because I'm an old maid,\" said Helen, biting her lip. \"I can't think\nwhy I go on like this myself.\" She shook off her sister's hand and went\ninto the house. Margaret, distressed at the day's beginning, followed\nthe Bournemouth steamer with her eyes. She saw that Helen's nerves\nwere exasperated by the unlucky Bast business beyond the bounds of\npoliteness. There might at any minute be a real explosion, which even\nHenry would notice. Henry must be removed. \"Margaret!\" her aunt called. \"Magsy! It isn't true, surely, what Mr.\nWilcox says, that you want to go away early next week?\" \"Not 'want,'\" was Margaret's prompt reply; \"but there is so much to be\nsettled, and I do want to see the Charles's.\" \"But going away without taking the Weymouth trip, or even the Lulworth?\" said Mrs. Munt, coming nearer. \"Without going once more up Nine Barrows\nDown?\" \"I'm afraid so.\" Mr. Wilcox rejoined her with, \"Good! I did the breaking of the ice.\" A wave of tenderness came over her. She put a hand on either shoulder,\nand looked deeply into the black, bright eyes. What was behind their\ncompetent stare? She knew, but was not disquieted.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-18, 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 2024-01-18", "answer": "Margaret, Aunt Juley, Swanage, Mr. Wilcox, Schlegels, London, house inspection, marriage proposal, Helen, Wilcox men, independence, love, engagement ring, walk by the sea, \"Concentrate\", \"Only connect\", emotional restraint, Leonard, Porphyrion, bank job, poverty, \"battle of life\", Charles, Dolly, Evie, Howards End, suspicion, family dynamics, key relationships, significant decisions"}]