H. Wells - Ann Veronica

beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving

series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing,

interesting, memorable affairs. Each one had been different from

the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive

freshness, a distinctive beauty. He could not understand how men

could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful

research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing,

these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and

mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. All the rest

of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for

it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it.

So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly

protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs

and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck.

Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already

aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside

Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and

intimately. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he

used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account.

She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and

sympathy. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself

in the right light. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her,

and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest.

She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine

person unduly limited. She even touched lightly on her father's

unreasonableness.

"I wonder," said Ramage, "that more girls don't think as you do

and want to strike out in the world."

And then he speculated. "I wonder if you will?"

"Let me say one thing," he said. "If ever you do and I can help

you in any way, by advice or inquiry or recommendation-- You see,

I'm no believer in feminine incapacity, but I do perceive there

is such a thing as feminine inexperience. As a sex you're a

little under-trained--in affairs. I'd take it--forgive me if I

seem a little urgent--as a sort of proof of friendliness. I can

imagine nothing more pleasant in life than to help you, because I

know it would pay to help you. There's something about you, a

little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel--good luck

about you and success. . . ."

And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered,

and behind her listening watched and thought about him. She

liked the animated eagerness of his manner.

His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of

detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly

equipped. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased

her--the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that

one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved.

Compared with her father and Mr. Manning and the men in "fixed"

positions generally that she knew, Ramage, presented by himself,

had a fine suggestion of freedom, of power, of deliberate and

sustained adventure. . . .

She was particularly charmed by his theory or friendship. It was

really very jolly to talk to a man in this way--who saw the woman

in her and did not treat her as a child. She was inclined to

think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the

case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything

"nonsensical," was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend

one could meet. But in that reservation it may be she went a

little beyond the converse of his view. . . .

They got on wonderfully well together. They talked for the

better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the

junction of highroad and the bridle-path. There, after

protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost

ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable

pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters,

smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so

came to Micklechesil. There, in a little tea and sweet-stuff

shop, she bought and consumed slowly and absent-mindedly the

insufficient nourishment that is natural to her sex on such

occasions.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH

THE CRISIS

Part 1

We left Miss Stanley with Ann Veronica's fancy dress in her hands

and her eyes directed to Ann Veronica's pseudo-Turkish slippers.

When Mr. Stanley came home at a quarter to six--an earlier train

by fifteen minutes than he affected--his sister met him in the

hall with a hushed expression. "I'm so glad you're here, Peter,"

she said. "She means to go."

"Go!" he said. "Where?"

"To that ball."

"What ball?" The question was rhetorical. He knew.

"I believe she's dressing up-stairs--now."

"Then tell her to undress, confound her!" The City had been

thoroughly annoying that day, and he was angry from the outset.

Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment.

"I don't think she will," she said.

"She must," said Mr. Stanley, and went into his study. His

sister followed. "She can't go now. She'll have to wait for

dinner," he said, uncomfortably.

"She's going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the

Avenue, and go up with them.

"She told you that?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"At tea."

"But why didn't you prohibit once for all the whole thing? How

dared she tell you that?"

"Out of defiance. She just sat and told me that was her

arrangement. I've never seen her quite so sure of herself."

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?' "

"And then?"

"She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her

walk."

"She'll meet somebody one of these days--walking about like

that."

"She didn't say she'd met any one."

"But didn't you say some more about that ball?"

"I said everything I could say as soon as I realized she was

trying to avoid the topic. I said, 'It is no use your telling me

about this walk and pretend I've been told about the ball,

because you haven't. Your father has forbidden you to go!' "

"Well?"

"She said, 'I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it

my duty to go to that ball!' "

"Felt it her duty!"

" 'Very well,' I said, 'then I wash my hands of the whole

business. Your disobedience be upon your own head.' "

"But that is flat rebellion!" said Mr. Stanley, standing on the

hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. "You ought at

once--you ought at once to have told her that. What duty does a

girl owe to any one before her father? Obedience to him, that is

surely the first law. What CAN she put before that?" His voice

began to rise. "One would think I had said nothing about the

matter. One would think I had agreed to her going. I suppose

this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. I

suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish--"

"Oh! Ssh, Peter!" cried Miss Stanley.

He stopped abruptly. In the pause a door could be heard opening

and closing on the landing up-stairs. Then light footsteps became

audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and

a faint rustle of skirts.

"Tell her," said Mr. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, "to come

in here."

Part 2

Miss Stanley emerged from the study and stood watching Ann

Veronica descend.

The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for