The Romantic

ve roads, swinging

as the south wind had driven them. The blue-white road drew her, ris

and appeased by the strong, quick movement of her body. The joy she had gone to her love

t and hard and you could feel the ripple

ny other man. She didn't want any more of that again, ever. She could go

had wanted to hurt Effie. S

igh open country. Fancy sitting with Gibson in his stuffy office, da

.

n't happen. Nothing's happened. I'

bing with light, immense as the sky above a plain. Hills-thousands of hills.

you want? How could you want

efore the sallow ricks and long grey barns. Under the loaded droop of green a grey shar

er the white gate, l

g necks hanging down like tails, pushing their heads along the ground. She could hea

ving on a farm, looki

arn farming.

go. She couldn't have stuck to it for five years if it hadn't been for Gibson-falling in love with him, the most unreasonable thing of all. She didn't care if

arm now, this minute, and

ld she heard the farmy

oking at her as he came, tilting his head back to get her

"Is this your far

nged movement of the moustache, a flutter of dark down. She saw h

it was my

ner of a knapsack bulged over his right shoulder. Rough g

Something tall and distant; slend

's farm it is I

him. There isn'

O

inge

w who he is

ng. I don't even know wh

-on-the

isn't. It's Sto

is left shoulder, and held up his chin.

l show you." She pointed. "You see where that clump of trees is-like

trying to get the

ve you co

other side o

ong the top. You've come

y way. I did it for fu

d happy, like a child. She turne

back to the hotel and see whether there was a wire

there's something the o

a road there. It's your way

white teeth this time. The gate

do I d

ane on your right-you'll see the sign-post. Then the first la

aised his hat, backing from her, ho

t the pace he was going; his y

he bend by the grey cone of the lime kiln under the ash-tree. He had turned and h

ooking for something dropped on his path; then

eek now. She wondered how long it would be before

*

nd little oblong gilt-framed mirror at one end; at the other the bowed window looking west on t

uter-pigeons swelling and strutting; two putty-faced unmarried daughters, sulking; one married one, pink and proper, and the son-in-l

t think she could b

petunia, flaming; thick black squares of her bobbed hair hanging over eyebrows and ea

e week-end; she implored her to hang on for five days longer, not to leave Stow-on

the door; fat faces straining furtively. If th

eck and shoulders. Soft white nose, too thick at the nuzzling tip. Brown eyes straight and wide open. Deep-grooved, clear-cut eyelids, heavy lash

f, Charlotte Redhead. It had been secret an

she hated secrecy and mystery. She would tell Gwinnie abo

cture, behind her, the bow window and t

*

spare, oval face with the straight-jutting, pointed chin. Honey-white face, thin dusk and bistre of eyelids and hollow temples and the roots of the hair. Its look of being winged, lifted up, ready to start off on

s curling up queerly, like little moustaches

e first day. He had

n Co

nd hadn't seen; places they wanted to see, and the ways you could get to places. He trusted to luck; he risked things; he was out, he said

ked. Long, innocent conversations. He told her about himself. He came from Cov

on the big bare backs of cart horses and riding them to water; milking cows and feeding calves. And lambs. When

ut together the family fro

ee how the

mind?"

a b

hey go. If they were dead-stretched out on their death beds-you'd see their souls, like long, fat white slugs stretched out

said. "It doesn't ma

of the family from Birmingha

*

sa-

rawled in slow me

h between the fawn gold bands and plaited ear bosses of her hair, the pink, pushed out

her arms round her knees rocking herself on the end of her spine; and though

I'm the same Charlotte. Don't tell

I know a jolly lot mor

-if you are tw

-four yet…. It's the s

with the first silly

inky, the man I was engaged to. And Dicky Raikes; he wanted me to go to Mexico with him. Jus

didn'

ways serious when you want to be funny. Besides, he's so good. His goodnes

been a pretty rotten

It's the end that's rotten. Th

of wisdom. "I don't believe in that Effie business. You want to think you stopped it because of Effie; but you didn't. Yo

ings. The

my mind, so that I shan't think of him any more

ybody el

ook he

n't you

-glass. She stood there a minute, pinning closer

to do with that wa

anything with him if you tried

l w

ings they think. You're safe with him, Gwin

. Whatever you do, do