MARGARET IN STAFFORDSHIRE
1
I must go back a little way with my story.In the previous book Ihave described the kind of education that happens to a man of my class nowadays, and it has been convenient to leap a phase in my experience that I must now set out at length.I want to tell in this second hook how I came to marry, and to do that I must give something of the atmosphere in which I first met my wife and some intimations of the forces that went to her making.I met her in Staffordshire while I was staying with that uncle of whom I have already spoken, the uncle who sold my father's houses and settled my mother in Penge.Margaret was twenty then and I was twenty-two.
It was just before the walking tour in Switzerland that opened up so much of the world to me.I saw her once, for an afternoon, and circumstances so threw her up in relief that I formed a very vivid memory of her.She was in the sharpest contrast with the industrial world about her; she impressed me as a dainty blue flower might do, come upon suddenly on a clinker heap.She remained in my mind at once a perplexing interrogation and a symbol....
But first I must tell of my Staffordshire cousins and the world that served as a foil for her.
2
I first went to stay with my cousins when I was an awkward youth of sixteen, wearing deep mourning for my mother.My uncle wanted to talk things over with me, he said, and if he could, to persuade me to go into business instead of going up to Cambridge.
I remember that visit on account of all sorts of novel things, but chiefly, I think, because it was the first time I encountered anything that deserves to be spoken of as wealth.For the first time in my life I had to do with people who seemed to have endless supplies of money, unlimited good clothes, numerous servants; whose daily life was made up of things that I had hitherto considered to be treats or exceptional extravagances.My cousins of eighteen and nineteen took cabs, for instance, with the utmost freedom, and travelled first-class in the local trains that run up and down the district of the Five Towns with an entire unconsciousness of the magnificence, as it seemed to me, of such a proceeding.
The family occupied a large villa in Newcastle, with big lawns before it and behind, a shrubbery with quite a lot of shrubs, a coach house and stable, and subordinate dwelling-places for the gardener and the coachman.Every bedroom contained a gas heater and a canopied brass bedstead, and had a little bathroom attached equipped with the porcelain baths and fittings my uncle manufactured, bright and sanitary and stamped with his name, and the house was furnished throughout with chairs and tables in bright shining wood, soft and prevalently red Turkish carpets, cosy corners, curtained archways, gold-framed landscapes, overmantels, a dining-room sideboard like a palace with a large Tantalus, and electric light fittings of a gay and expensive quality.There was a fine billiard-room on the ground floor with three comfortable sofas and a rotating bookcase containing an excellent collection of the English and American humorists from THREE MEN IN A BOAT to the penultimate Mark Twain.There was also a conservatory opening out of the dining-room, to which the gardener brought potted flowers in their season....
My aunt was a little woman with a scared look and a cap that would get over one eye, not very like my mother, and nearly eight years her junior; she was very much concerned with keeping everything nice, and unmercifully bullied by my two cousins, who took after their father and followed the imaginations of their own hearts.
They were tall, dark, warmly flushed girls handsome rather than pretty.Gertrude, the eldest and tallest, had eyes that were almost black; Sibyl was of a stouter build, and her eyes, of which she was shamelessly proud, were dark blue.Sibyl's hair waved, and Gertrude's was severely straight.They treated me on my first visit with all the contempt of the adolescent girl for a boy a little younger and infinitely less expert in the business of life than herself.They were very busy with the writings of notes and certain mysterious goings and comings of their own, and left me very much to my own devices.Their speech in my presence was full of unfathomable allusions.They were the sort of girls who will talk over and through an uninitiated stranger with the pleasantest sense of superiority.
I met them at breakfast and at lunch and at the half-past six o'clock high tea that formed the third chief meal of the day.Iheard them rattling off the compositions of Chaminade and Moskowski, with great decision and effect, and hovered on the edge of tennis foursomes where it was manifest to the dullest intelligence that my presence was unnecessary.Then I went off to find some readable book in the place, but apart from miscellaneous popular novels, some veterinary works, a number of comic books, old bound volumes of THEILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS and a large, popular illustrated History of England, there was very little to be found.My anut talked to me in a casual feeble way, chiefly about my motber's last illness.The two bad seen very little of each other for many years; she made no secret of it that the ineligible qualities of my father were the cause of the estrangement.The only other society in the house during the day was an old and rather decayed Skye terrier in constant conflict with what were no doubt imaginary fleas.I took myself off for a series of walks, and acquired a considerable knowledge of the scenery and topography of the Potteries.
