It was in fact some time before this that Rainborough had started to pay attention to Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. He had been struck first by her extraordinary industry. She was to be found at all hours of the day employing her spare time, which was considerable, in reading through the entire files of the Finance Department. These files were confused and voluminous, consisting partly of papers which SELIB had taken over on its creation from other international voluntary organizations. Over these complicated doc.u.ments Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt pored for long hours, taking notes. She called this 'familiarizing herself with the background'. Rainborough admired her thoroughness. He had intended, on his appointment, to do precisely this himself; but the files of the SELIB Finance Department presented such a horrible contrast to the orderly and intelligent files of the Home Office that he had become discouraged and decided it was not worth the trouble.

Also, Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was pretty. So, in point of fact, were most of the other O.O.s. But there was little doubt that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was the prettiest. Rainborough pointed this out to Evans with some pride. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had a very highly finished complexion, a small mouth of the type much favoured in the early nineteenth century, and an abundance of dark hair which, laid out by her hairdresser in regions like an elaborate garden, managed, in spite of the variety of curls, rolls, fringes, and pinnacles into which it was extended, to remain always exquisitely tidy. Beneath this hair there was, at the back, an expanse of smooth, slightly lemon-coloured neck, which had of late been particularly engaging Rainborough's interest, and, in front, the smile before mentioned which, although small in area for the reason given, was in intensity and brightness a considerable event. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's eyes were not her best feature, being inclined to narrowness, but her eyelashes, whether endowed by nature or contrived by art Rainborough could never decide, were long and sweeping; and out of this alluring boskage Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's gaze, when not directed to her typewriter or to the departmental files, now tended more and more to rest upon Rainborough.

It was through Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt that Rainborough began gradually to be aware of an entirely new range and type of feminine charms. He noticed, for instance, that when she sat down, Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt hitched her skirt up so that the whole of her legs from the silken knees downward were plainly visible, together with an inkling of underclothes. This gesture, which Rainborough had imagined was affected only by film stars when being photographed for the evening papers, infuriated and delighted him. He then observed that it was in daily use by all the girls in the office. So it was that Rainborough, who had been used, when he admired a woman, to confine his attention to her head, her conversation and the simpler bodily curves, started to become a connoisseur in such matters as perfume, lipstick, shoes, stockings, bracelets, ear-rings, and nail varnish; and always it would happen in this way, that Rainborough would be struck by some new and delightful aspect of his junior, and would then find the same note repeated, like a fading tinkling echo, through the whole office, until gradually, in his imagination, SELIB became peopled by a host of women, terrible and desirable by reason of their artificiality.

When it had occurred to Rainborough that he was interested in Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, he had decided to find out something about her and had sent to Establishments to ask to see her personal file. This request had been refused by Establishments, who seemed to regard it as in rather bad taste. The qualifications and past histories of officers of SELIB were, in the view of Establishments, sacred and mystical secrets which were not to be divulged to any but members of their own priestly caste. This discretion, which was an obvious corollary of the unsettled social hierarchy of SELIB, was respected by Rainborough, whose sense of historical necessity was strong. He therefore had to have recourse to other methods. He had begun by asking Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt a few direct questions; but these had been badly received. He asked her once about her education, to which she replied shortly that she had 'attended college': a phrase which Rainborough found repellent and which filled him with suspicion. Because of certain peculiarities in Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's vocabulary, Rainborough was certain that she had once been in the Civil Service, but although she admitted to having worked 'in connexion with the Ministry of Labour', he was unable to discover what her tasks had been. However, he soon abandoned these more abstruse researches and began to concentrate on simpler matters, such as discovering her Christian name.

This had proved surprisingly difficult. When Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had occasion to sign any doc.u.ment for him, she did so with an indescipherable scrawl of initials. It was only when, driven to desperation, he had looked in her handbag just before she was due to go on her summer holiday, that he had discovered from her pa.s.sport that her name was Agnes May Cas.e.m.e.nt. This discovery but drove Rainborough into a deeper frenzy. Which of these lovely sounds was the one to which Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt most commonly answered? Every day at eleven and at four there occurred meetings of the O.O.s, called respectively the coffee-meeting and the tea-meeting, and presided over by Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt and Miss Perkins, where 'the cuties', as Evans called them, gathered together to discuss matters of office procedure and feminine interest. Rainborough tried once or twice, by listening at the door of these gatherings, to find out what he wanted to know; but so far as he could find out by this method, which he abandoned when he was surprised by a latecomer in a listening att.i.tude, the young women without exception addressed each other as 'Miss So-and-so'. This discovery increased his awe of them considerably.

It was in the end the office messenger Stogdon who revealed to Rainborough that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was most properly addressed as 'Agnes'. This revelation occurred when Rainborough once surprised Stogdon chatting with Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt and addressing her in this way: a degree of familiarity which, it soon appeared, he had achieved with all the young women in a remarkably short time. They in turn doted on him and called him 'Stoggers'. This man was a continual source of pain to Rainborough, whom he treated with a sort of hideous friendliness and complicity. 'Them young ones, they're real smarties,' he would exclaim, concerning the O.O.s, and something in his manner would a.s.sociate Rainborough with himself as belonging among 'the old ones'. 'They'll make things hum before they're much older!' Stogdon would say, with a leer which Rainborough interpreted as a threat to himself. Stogdon's evident a.s.sumption that most decisions in the office were now taken by Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt and her friends maddened Rainborough the more as there was some slight element of truth in it. 'Sir Edward Guest is the director of the Board,' he once said coldly to Stogdon, 'not Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt.' But Stogdon had only replied by winking, as if to say, 'You and I, we know better!' On another occasion Stogdon said to Rainborough with a sigh, 'Ah, them young girls, they got all their lives before them. What it is to have your life before you, eh?' This 'eh' with which Stogdon ended so many of his sentences enraged Rainborough as much as the sentiment expressed. He wanted to point out that he too had his life before him, and such as they were, his prospects were certainly brighter than Stogdon's. The man doesn't realize who I am, Rainborough thought, with the desperation of one who knows that he is confronted with a nature against which he has no way of a.s.serting himself. He was without the means to impress Stogdon. And then the thought, with all its melancholy, would follow: Well, who am I, anyway?

During the earlier stages of what Rainborough and Evans called her 'campaign' Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had quietly continued to perform her duties as a typist, which took up in fact remarkably little time, in the intervals of her other activities. Later on, however, as she took over more and more of Rainborough's work, and as she pa.s.sed from the stage of accompanying him to conferences to the stage of representing him at conferences, she began to be restive. At last she said firmly, 'We must have a typist.'

'I thought we had one!' said Rainborough, who was in a bad temper that day.

Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt ignored this, and said, 'We only have to ask Establishments.' This kindly body was indeed ready to provide staff of any description in response to a department's lightest wish.

'Well, you fix it,' said Rainborough, and went away for the week-end.

When he returned he found that the office had been rearranged. Previously he had occupied the larger room, which gave on to the corridor, while Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt occupied a smaller inner room which gave only on to his room. He now found that his desk had been moved into the inner room, while Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt and the typist were installed in the other one.

'I thought you'd probably rather have the single room,' Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt explained vaguely. Rainborough had made no comment; in a way, the arrangement suited him quite well, and he was able to lead an even more peaceful existence. Most of the business which found its way towards him through the door from the corridor came no farther than Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt.

The typist attracted Rainborough's interest for a short while. He suspected that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had not in fact acquired the girl from Establishments, but had selected her privately herself. From one or two things that were said, Rainborough thought it possible that the typist had been at school with Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, but in a lower form. The girl was, in any case, Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's slave. She was a dowdy, fluffy girl, off whom pieces continually fell as off a moulting bird; and Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, who had, Rainborough suspected, chosen her carefully for just these qualities, proceeded to make her life a misery. This process was so painful to hear that Rainborough often had to shut the door so as not to hear it. The girl, whom Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt always referred to, and Rainborough soon found himself following her example, as 'the little typist', was very often to be found in tears.

With the arrival of the typist, Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt became even more confident. Rainborough, who had always behaved to her with the utmost formality, suddenly began to find himself being driven more mad than usual by her perfume, the lemon-coloured expanse of her neck, and the red-rimmed cigarette ends which she would leave behind in the tray on his desk. He at first attributed this disturbance to the c.u.mulative effect of living in the proximity of so many provocative harpies; but later he realized that it was perhaps rather the result of some subtle change of tactics on the part of Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. He noticed then how she would linger a little longer than before at the door of his room, swaying her long body to and fro, or how she would bring him the most unnecessary files, which they would then have to pore over together, Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's powdery cheek almost brushing his. And then one day she electrified him by calling him 'John.'

This move was not, so far as Rainborough could see, correlated with any other real alteration in their relations, and could not but be interpreted as an unprovoked frontal attack which he was at a loss to counter. He made, of course, no comment upon the now fairly frequent incidence of this monosyllable. He was only grateful that, so far, Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had refrained from making use of it in the presence of a third person. What he could not bring himself to do was to respond by calling her 'Agnes'. Do what he would, he could not think of her except as Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt; and as it was now impossible for him to address her in this way, since she had elected to address him less formally, he was forced to attract her attention by other devices such as coughing, dropping books, or cries of 'Oh, er, I say!' The state of misery and embarra.s.sment to which this situation reduced the nervous Rainborough seemed to touch Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt not at all. She tripped about the office with a gay and dainty demeanour, more neat and freshly laundered than ever, and her repeated utterance of Rainborough's Christian name rang in his ears like the monotonous cooing of a dove.

Rainborough had been saying to himself for some time, 'It can't last much longer,' without having much of an idea in his head about how it was likely to finish. He was by now very much concerned about Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt, and during office hours he thought about little else. She became in fact a subject for both contemplation and research; and Rainborough reflected bitterly, as he settled down to these studies, that after all what he was doing was no more pointless than what was going on at that moment in most of the other rooms in the SELIB building. His latest craze was to discover her age, which he cursed himself for not having observed when he had her pa.s.sport in his hands. He proposed to do this by an elaborately prepared scheme of questions which would be asked at intervals over a certain period, in such a way that the answers would, when pieced together, provide the required information. The starting-point of this scheme was the datum that Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt's brother was three years her senior. Surrept.i.tiously to discover her brother's age was the aim of the subtle plan which Rainborough, reaching for his pen, was now about to commit to paper.

There was a knock on the door. Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt and the typist, it appeared, had gone to tea, and someone had penetrated as far as the door of Rainborough's room. He put down his pen with irritation and called 'Come in?'

It was Hunter Keepe. Rainborough looked at him with surprise and annoyance. 'How very nice to see you!' he said.

'h.e.l.lo,' said Hunter. The boy seemed agitated and embarra.s.sed. He looked round for somewhere to sit, and settled himself quickly on a seat with the ungraceful haste of a player of the game of Musical Chairs.

Rainborough leaned back and regarded him with a puzzled frown. Hunter's arrival put him completely at his ease, so calmly superior did he feel to Rosa's not very mature and not very successful younger brother. The sight of Hunter, however, also reminded him of Rosa, and he felt a tiny pang of guilt at the juxtaposition in his mind of the images of Rosa and Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt. It was axiomatic to Rainborough that Rosa was above all other women; and he would have told himself quite simply that Rosa was a matter of the spirit while Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt was a matter of the flesh, had he not been honest enough to suspect that his interest in Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt had become complex enough to deserve a better name. For this fact, when he thought of Rosa, he despised himself.

Rainborough felt, if anything, a certain dislike for Hunter. He knew that Hunter was aware of, and even perhaps overestimated, his, Rainborough's, interest in his sister. He knew, too, that Hunter was notoriously hostile to anyone who was sweet on Rosa. This led Rainborough to expect, and then very easily to find, Hunter's behaviour to be studded with small acts of aggression. He looked at him now with impatience as he sat on the edge of the chair, blushing like an undergraduate. What on earth can he want? Rainborough wondered.

'What do you want?' he asked Hunter. 'I mean, what can I do for you?' And as he spoke he thought to himself, it's probably something to do with Mischa Fox.

Hunter was in no hurry to explain. He began by looking about the room as if he expected to see some strange animal roosting in a comer. Then he said to Rainborough, 'I expect you're pretty busy.'

Rainborough, who was not sure whether or not this was sarcastic, replied vaguely, 'Oh, it comes and it goes, you know.'

'I was pa.s.sing,' said Hunter, 'and I just thought I'd drop in for a chat.' This was so transparently false that Rainborough was silenced.

Hunter continued, 'I hear Rosa saw you the other day with Dr Saward.'

'That is true,' said Rainborough.

'What a nice man Dr Saward is,' said Hunter; 'really almost a saint.'

'He's a good man,' said Rainborough, 'but he'd be the first to tell you not to mistake a scholar for a true ascetic.'

'Of course,' said Hunter. 'And then there's his health.'

Rainborough was wondering whether he hadn't better make some thoroughly nice remark about his friend, when Hunter went on, 'Dr Saward saw Mischa Fox last week.'

'So I believe,' said Rainborough. He was interested to see just what the information was that Hunter wanted.

'Have you seen him?' Hunter asked.

'Who?' asked Rainborough, simply to annoy.

'Mischa Fox.'

Rainborough did not like to admit that he had not seen Mischa, so he said, 'Yes, I saw him a few days ago, but very briefly. I've been rather busy.'

'Did he say anything special?' asked Hunter.

'No,' said Rainborough, 'nothing special.' It occurred to him that people were always impelled to ask this question about Mischa, although they always got the same discreet reply.

'Oh,' said Hunter. He began once more to look round the office with simulated interest. Rainborough, watching him, felt irritation at his simplicity and envy for his copious head of hair.

'It must be interesting, this work of yours,' said Hunter. 'Tell me now,' he said, 'when people immigrate under your scheme, do they have only temporary leave to work here, or can they stay for good?'

He's being polite, thought Rainborough. 'In effect,' he said, 'unless there's some special reason to chuck them out, they can stay for good. For the first five years they hold a special SELIB permit. After that they can apply for an ordinary Ministry of Labour permit, or else ask for naturalization.'

'I see,' said Hunter. 'I imagined they were somehow on probation.'

'Only in the sense,' said Rainborough, 'that their permission to be here at all depends on their work permit. But in fact, once they're here, no one is going to bother their heads about them, and provided they behave normally there's nothing to stop them being here forever.'

'I see,' said Hunter rather gloomily. 'Forever.'

'Of course,' said Rainborough, who was suddenly beginning to feel interested in the subject, 'the whole thing is absurd in a way. Technically speaking, half these workers oughtn't to be here at all.'

'How is that?' asked Hunter.

'Well, you know we're a hybrid organization,' said Rainborough, 'half State-aided and half voluntary. Most of the voluntary contributions come from America. When we accepted this money originally we made an agreement that we would only use it for the benefit of people born west of a certain line.'

'People born west of a certain line?' asked Hunter.

'Yes,' said Rainborough. 'It sounds crazy and arbitrary, doesn't it? But we had to adopt some sort of rough and ready distinction. You see the point, of course, of some such arrangement. An international organization like this one has a tricky course to steer. We're likely to be accused by one party of enticement and by the other of using their money for political purposes. Not that some Americans would mind about that. But our benefactors are mainly liberal organizations, Quakers and so on, and they were very correct about the way the money should be tied up. In our foundation charter there's a lot of stuff about our purpose being to a.s.sist people who want to emigrate because of purely economic hardship. It's very artificial, of course. Who's going to define economic hardship? Every conference we have, someone harks back to that. But one just has to make a distinction and stick to it. That's administration. That's what that line was invented for. Here it is.'

Rainborough got up and turned to a large map which was hanging behind him. He pointed to an irregular red line which ran through Europe from north to south. 'We call it the FPE,' said Rainborough. 'That means Farthest Point East.'

'But, in fact,' said Hunter, 'if I understood you, a lot of people who immigrate under SELIB were really born east of the line?'

'Yes,' said Rainborough, 'but we just keep quiet about that. Like so many things in England, it's known unofficially in high quarters, but so long as it's not known officially there'll be no trouble.'

'What would make it known officially?' asked Hunter.

'Well,' said Rainborough, 'if someone were to write to The Times, or to ask a question in Parliament, or if some minister were to take it up, then obviously it couldn't be ignored. But, in fact, it's to no one's advantage to raise the matter.'

'To no one's advantage?' asked Hunter.

'No,' said Rainborough, 'neither the Government of the day nor the Opposition has any interest in making a stink about it. Why should they? It would merely expose Great Britain to attacks from both sides.' Rainborough was beginning to put on what his friends called his 'Royal Commission manner'; he liked explaining this sort of point.

'How do you know where your people were born, anyway?' asked Hunter.

'Well, in some cases, when doc.u.ments have been lost,' said Rainborough, 'it's hard to tell. A lot of these lads hold pa.s.sports that are obviously forged.' He went to a huge filing-cabinet in the corner, unlocked it, and pulled out a few drawers. 'We hold all their ident.i.ty doc.u.ments here. Look at that,' he said, holding out a greenish booklet to Hunter, 'obviously a crude forgery. We just wink the eye at that. But in some cases there isn't even concealment. Their papers show quite clearly that they were born to the east.'

'It would be a sad thing for a man,' said Hunter, 'to have his fate decided by where he was born. He didn't choose where he was born.'

'Yes, it's not a pleasant way to have to discriminate between human beings,' said Rainborough, 'but you have to deal with the situation that you have, and we didn't make this one. Anyhow, life is full of that sort of injustice. We have to be things that we didn't choose.' Rainborough looked at Hunter's hair.

'Supposing there were a scandal,' asked Hunter, 'what would happen to the people born east of FPE who were already working in this country?'

There was a knock on the door.

'I don't know,' said Rainborough. 'I suppose they'd be deported. Come in!'

Evans put his head round the door. 'So sorry,' said Evans, 'I didn't know you were busy. It's just about the usual.' The usual was The Times crossword, concerning which Rainborough and Evans normally exchanged information at this hour in the day.

Rainborough, who did not want this matter mentioned in Hunter's presence, said, 'I'll come along to your room in a moment.' Evans went away. 'You must excuse me,' Rainborough told Hunter, 'a routine check-up. I won't be long.'

As soon as the door closed behind Rainborough, Hunter sprang from his chair and ran to the filing-cabinet. Suddenly he was trembling and breathing hard. He drew a shaking hand along the top of the files. It was not long before he found what he wanted, and studied it carefully for some minutes. Then he left the cabinet as he had found it and turned his attention to the map.

When Rainborough returned, Hunter was still studying the map. He seemed absorbed in it.

'It's a good map,' said Rainborough. 'Even the smallest places are marked. Looking for anything special?'

'No,' said Hunter. He was drawing his finger slowly across eastern Poland. At last he sighed deeply and turned away with a smile. 'I'm afraid I must be off now,' he said to Rainborough.

Rainborough felt quite sorry. He would have liked to tell him more things. 'Ah, well,' said Rainborough, 'drop in again some time. How's Rosa?'

Hunter's face closed up. 'Rosa's fine,' he said.

'Very tied up at the factory, I suppose,' said Rainborough.

'Yes,' said Hunter, 'she's fine. Good-bye, and thanks for the talk.' He went away.

Rainborough sat down again and looked at his watch. Nearly time to go home. Silly puppy, he thought; what did he want, I wonder? His thoughts reverted to Miss Cas.e.m.e.nt.

Nine.

ROSA was very unhappy indeed. She felt that her relation with the Lusiewicz brothers was drawing nearer and nearer to the brink of some disaster. She also knew that she was pa.s.sing through a period to which she would look back later to marvel at her inertia. There was still some possibility of action. She had not yet entirely lost the initiative. Very soon she would be powerless. But she was not yet powerless; not quite yet. This was the most painful thought of all.

She was worried, too, about Hunter. It was obvious that Hunter needed help. He was in a torment of indecision about the Artemis and badly wanting Rosa to give him a lead. Rosa loved her brother, and to have to withhold this help from him caused her continual distress. But so far she had felt herself unable to make any move. Neither she nor Hunter spoke of the matter, and as this silence made them incapable of talking about anything else, they had hardly exchanged a word for days. Only Hunter's eyes, reproachful and sad, continually reminded Rosa that she herself had brought upon him the griefs in the midst of which she now refused to give him her good counsel.

Rosa had no special affection for the Artemis. She had imagined once that she might edit it herself and make it into a great pure-hearted periodical; but her time in Fleet Street had taught her both how hard it is to sell pure-hearted periodicals and how little she herself had the temperament of an editor. If she had had a sum of money to put behind the magazine, it might have been different. As it was, she had left it to struggle on, and the best that she hoped from it was that before it finally perished it might afford some useful experience to Hunter and help to qualify him for a more lucrative occupation. If at any time Hunter had received from anyone else such an advantageous offer as he had now received from Mischa Fox, Rosa, who felt herself to be responsible for her brother's poverty, would have counselled him to accept. She knew that the idea of buying Artemis had come up more than once in highly reputable quarters, and she had always been disappointed when she had heard no more about it.

There was no doubt in Rosa's mind that Mischa Fox's offer was carefully timed. It was also clear to her that what Mischa wanted was not so much the Artemis as to put Hunter and herself into a certain kind of dilemma. This was typical of him. Further than this she could not see; and she was still unsure whether Mischa's move was to be thought of as an attempt to reopen negotiations and not rather as an act of revenge. Mischa was quite capable of taking, after ten years, a carefully-thought-out reprisal. As Rosa sat wondering about this, she was tortured by her lack of knowledge. She could hardly think of anything she would not have given to know Mischa Fox's mind at that moment. What terrified her most was that she found deep in her heart a strong wish that Mischa might indeed want to reopen negotiations. This discovery alarmed her for many reasons. She had decided ten years earlier that any relation with Mischa could only do her harm, and she had not had occasion to change her mind. But to find herself still, however partially and however obscurely, fascinated by the idea of Mischa was alarming, not so much because this fascination might ever come definitively to tempt her, as because of the endless variety of torments which such a situation could promise.

When Rosa began to feel how strong, after so long a time, her interest still was in Mischa, her position with the Lusiewicz brothers began to seem unendurable. She found herself aching with the desire to be free of them, partly because of a simple wish to be able to indulge, without any further complication, her hopeless and half-guilty thoughts about Mischa Fox, and partly because, and this was perhaps what bit most deeply into her, she was sick with fear at the thought that Mischa might find out about the brothers. So far, Rosa was very certain that the secret of her a.s.sociation with them had been well kept. They had their own motives for silence. As for herself, she had not mentioned their name to anyone for many months, and there was no one, except Hunter, who was in any position to follow her movements; and whatever Hunter suspected, he would be but too anxious to keep to himself. But if Mischa Fox should find out, then the discovery would be likely both to make up his mind in favour of revenge rather than negotiations and to put him at the same moment in possession of a weapon against Rosa of such power that she grew pale at the thought of any person even possessing it, let alone using it.

Rosa knew this; and she knew, too, that she had not got the strength to escape from the power of the brothers. It was profitless to ask now whether the bond that tied her to them was love. The darkness in which those two held her was profound beyond the reach of names. She could not of her own will break the spell. And then she would ask herself and why should I break it? What do I care about other people! Why should I sacrifice this true love? The brothers, after all, had committed no fault beyond that of loving her. They were poor and helpless, they were her children. In reason, she had nothing to hold against them. Whereas of Mischa she knew much ill and suspected more, so that he became for her at moments the very figure of evil. These things Rosa said to herself. But they were not the things which she was really thinking.

Rosa was aware that Hunter had never forgiven her for refusing to marry Mischa; and that inevitably the boy must be dreaming something, hoping something, in the present situation. Sometimes it seemed likely to Rosa that to sell himself into Mischa's power was precisely Hunter's profoundest wish - though it was not necessarily the one on which he would have acted, even had the complication concerning his sister been absent from the scene. As it was, Hunter was in the dark, even concerning the degree of Rosa's attachment to the Artemis, let alone concerning the possible existence of any remnant of her attachment to Mischa. He could only make guesses about her att.i.tude; and his sharpest temptation would be to imagine that perhaps what Rosa really wanted, only she didn't like to say it to him openly, was that he should sell the periodical and so in some sense let them both be drawn back into the orbit of Mischa Fox. This was how Rosa saw the situation. Her prediction was that, failing any lead from herself, Hunter would refuse to sell the Artemis, influenced partly by ideals of independence but chiefly by the fear of offending his sister, should it be the case, as after all the available evidence suggested, that she wished to have no further dealings of any kind with Mischa Fox.

The annual meeting of the shareholders of Artemis was due to occur in about a week's time. If Hunter should decide to sell, the matter could most conveniently be raised then, and indeed, technically speaking, settled at once. It was a part of the consitution of Artemis that decisions taken at an appropriately publicized meeting of shareholders required no quorum. The energetic women who had founded the periodical and who had felt their love for it to be eternal had argued that if ever a time came when shareholders were too indifferent to attend meetings the thing should be left to its fate. That time, which they had been unable to imagine, had come; and now each year, as they dozed by their firesides, Hunter read out the annual report to an empty room and took whatever policy decisions were necessary with the a.s.sistance of Rosa, who was very often the only shareholder present. The sale, therefore, could very easily be put through; and when Rosa reflected upon how, from so many mundane points of view, attractive the idea must seem, she felt that she was putting an intolerable strain upon Hunter. But in so far as to help him she would have to make up her own mind about a number of matters which she could scarcely bear even to think about, let alone to make definite, she felt herself to be incapable of doing so.

Suddenly, however, Rosa did think of a project which held some promise of at least lightening the tension - and, pa.s.sionately desiring action of some kind, and quite incapable of the action which was most gravely needed, she seized upon the idea with joy. It was an idea which had been suggested to her by John Rainborough when she had last met him with Peter Saward and which had indeed occurred to her very much earlier but had been rejected for a variety of reasons: namely, to appeal for funds to one of the shareholders. Rosa and Hunter had discussed this possibility long ago, but they had decided against it then. As Hunter put it, 'If we go stirring up those old girls, they'll start to interfere'; and Rosa herself had felt too proud to ask for contributions from elderly and wealthy women who had been the admirers and followers of her mother, and who, she felt, ought to be coming forward now of their own accord to give a.s.sistance to Artemis.

When this idea came afresh to Rosa in the midst of her troubles, it seemed to her a very good one. If some large sum of money were suddenly forthcoming for Artemis from another source, this would simplify, though it would hardly solve, the situation vis-a-vis Mischa Fox. Rosa told herself that as things stood at the moment she could never be sure how much in her own att.i.tude was a genuine concern for Hunter's welfare. If this item could be looked after by some means quite external to the situation, then, Rosa felt, she might be able to see more clearly just what was at stake. To bring the Artemis financially speaking out of danger would so enormously relieve her mind and Hunter's that she could believe them both capable of miracles of clear thinking and decisive action once that was achieved. If the sum of money available were large enough, she might even think in terms of a regular salary for Hunter and a new lease of life for the periodical; and although Rosa was not optimistic enough to imagine that money was really the solution to all her difficulties, she was certainly overjoyed at finding at last a field in which she was free to move - and the notion that she could, on her own initiative and in however small a way, alter the situation in which Mischa Fox had placed her, made her feel already halfway towards winning back her freedom.

When she got home from the factory that night she took the book of shareholders and carried it off to her own room. She said nothing to Hunter about her plan. As she studied the book, it seemed to her that there were two people whom she might approach, one a Mrs Carrington-Morris, who had been, and still was, a prominent Methodist, and the other Mrs Camilla Wingfield, the eccentric lady who had been mentioned by Rainborough. Rosa debated for some time between these two and decided finally in favour of Mrs Wingfield. It might turn out that Mrs Wingfield was too crazy, but it was even more likely to turn out that Mrs Carrington-Morris was too sane; and Rosa decided to bet first upon the generosity of Mrs Wingfield, which might be non-existent but might equally be extravagant. Rosa could also remember having met both ladies some thirty years ago and having felt a marked preference for Mrs Wingfield. It was her name, therefore, which she now looked up in the London telephone directory, to discover to her surprise that Mrs Wingfield also lived in Campden Hill Square, in a house on the opposite side which could be seen out of the window. Rosa took this to be a good omen.

Rosa decided to open her campaign by a personal visit, rather than by a letter, and to rely upon the effects of surprise together with her mother's name and her own physical resemblance to that lady to bring about an immediate capitulation. So it was that on the following day, which was a Sat.u.r.day, Rosa was knocking on Mrs Wingfield's door at about four o'clock. She had calculated that it was wisest to call at tea-time, when any embarra.s.sment caused by her arrival could be rapidly dispelled amid the dispensing of cups of tea.

Rosa knocked several time without getting any answer and had stepped back on to the pavement to look up at the closely curtained windows when the door opened very quietly to a gap of a few inches and a pale face peered out. Rosa sprang forwards with such alacrity that the owner of the face immediately shut the door again, and Rosa could hear the chain being fixed. With this additional safeguard the door opened once more to a narrow slit and Rosa could see one pale blue eye looking out at her.

'Excuse me,' said Rosa, made thoroughly nervous by this reception, 'I am anxious to see Mrs Camilla Wingfield. I wonder if you could tell me whether she is at home?'

At this the door closed again, and Rosa was about to go away in despair when she heard the chain being removed, and a moment later the door was thrown wide open to reveal a fuzzy-headed woman dressed in an overall.

'Oh, I am so sorry!' said this personage, beaming at Rosa. 'I took you for a gipsy. You must forgive me. There are so many around at this time of year. They work with the circuses in the winter, you know, and in the summer they do farm work, and about this time of year, which is an inbetween time, they go about in the towns and try to sell things. One came last week and was so unpleasant. She put her foot in the door and wouldn't go away. In the end I had to buy some heather off her to make her go. You wouldn't mind if they sold useful things like brushes, but selling heather at that price, it's just daylight robbery. You must excuse me for having thought you were a gipsy. As soon as you spoke, of course, I knew you weren't one. But at first I just saw your black hair, and it gave me a turn. I can see now from your appearance, too, that you're not a gipsy. It was just seeing you for a moment I made a mistake. It's so unusual for a lady these days to wear her hair so long. They all do, of course, I mean the gipsies. But your hair is very beautiful, if I may say so, and very becoming the way you wear it. I wish more young girls would wear their hair long. But they can't be bothered, can they, they're always in such a rush, the poor things, bless their hearts.'

During this speech Rosa relaxed completely and began to smile. She liked the speaker, whose social cla.s.s she still felt unable to guess. Rosa prided herself on being able to place the people she met, considered as social phenomena, very rapidly: a capacity she had picked up from her mother. That distinguished Socialist had possessed an almost uncanny sensitivity to social differences. Rosa decided that what confronted her was, in spite of the overall and the woollen stockings sagging towards the ankle, Mrs Wingfield's lady companion. But the age of this person remained uncertain. Her large eyes were of a blue so pale as to be almost white, like a washed-out garment, and the flesh of her face and neck, which was of a light greyish colour, was covered all over with a criss-cross of tiny wrinkles of anxiety and good nature which destroyed the lines of the features, so that the eyes looked at Rosa out of a flabby expanse of flesh which reached with no other interruption from the wig-like hair, which resembled the interior of a mattress, to the round-necked lace of the ancient dress which announced the beginning of the body.

'I am Miss Foy,' said this person, with the air of one uttering a famous name. The dry skin undulated as she spoke, like the skin of an alligator.

'Ah!' said Rosa, with what she hoped was the appropriate intonation.

'Yes!' said Miss Foy triumphantly. She laid the dishcloth which she was holding over her arm. 'I'm doing the wash-up,' she said.

'I was wanting to speak to Mrs Wingfield,' said Rosa. 'I wonder if that's convenient?'

'She doesn't expect you,' said Miss Foy reproachfully.