Chapter CXX

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Philip slept like a log and awoke with a start to find Harold tickling hisface with a feather. There was a shout of delight when he opened his eyes.He was drunken with sleep."Come on, lazybones," said Jane. "Sally says she won't wait for you unlessyou hurry up."Then he remembered what had happened. His heart sank, and, half out of bedalready, he stopped; he did not know how he was going to face her; he wasoverwhelmed with a sudden rush of self-reproach, and bitterly, bitterly,he regretted what he had done. What would she say to him that morning? Hedreaded meeting her, and he asked himself how he could have been such afool. But the children gave him no time; Edward took his bathing-drawersand his towel, Athelstan tore the bed-clothes away; and in three minutesthey all clattered down into the road. Sally gave him a smile. It was assweet and innocent as it had ever been."You do take a time to dress yourself," she said. "I thought you was nevercoming."There was not a particle of difference in her manner. He had expected somechange, subtle or abrupt; he fancied that there would be shame in the wayshe treated him, or anger, or perhaps some increase of familiarity; butthere was nothing. She was exactly the same as before. They walked towardsthe sea all together, talking and laughing; and Sally was quiet, but shewas always that, reserved, but he had never seen her otherwise, andgentle. She neither sought conversation with him nor avoided it. Philipwas astounded. He had expected the incident of the night before to havecaused some revolution in her, but it was just as though nothing hadhappened; it might have been a dream; and as he walked along, a littlegirl holding on to one hand and a little boy to the other, while hechatted as unconcernedly as he could, he sought for an explanation. Hewondered whether Sally meant the affair to be forgotten. Perhaps hersenses had run away with her just as his had, and, treating what hadoccurred as an accident due to unusual circumstances, it might be that shehad decided to put the matter out of her mind. It was ascribing to her apower of thought and a mature wisdom which fitted neither with her age norwith her character. But he realised that he knew nothing of her. There hadbeen in her always something enigmatic.They played leap-frog in the water, and the bathe was as uproarious as onthe previous day. Sally mothered them all, keeping a watchful eye on them,and calling to them when they went out too far. She swam staidly backwardsand forwards while the others got up to their larks, and now and thenturned on her back to float. Presently she went out and began dryingherself; she called to the others more or less peremptorily, and at lastonly Philip was left in the water. He took the opportunity to have a goodhard swim. He was more used to the cold water this second morning, and herevelled in its salt freshness; it rejoiced him to use his limbs freely,and he covered the water with long, firm strokes. But Sally, with a towelround her, went down to the water's edge."You're to come out this minute, Philip," she called, as though he were asmall boy under her charge.And when, smiling with amusement at her authoritative way, he came towardsher, she upbraided him."It is naughty of you to stay in so long. Your lips are quite blue, andjust look at your teeth, they're chattering.""All right. I'll come out."She had never talked to him in that manner before. It was as though whathad happened gave her a sort of right over him, and she looked upon him asa child to be cared for. In a few minutes they were dressed, and theystarted to walk back. Sally noticed his hands."Just look, they're quite blue.""Oh, that's all right. It's only the circulation. I shall get the bloodback in a minute.""Give them to me."She took his hands in hers and rubbed them, first one and then the other,till the colour returned. Philip, touched and puzzled, watched her. Hecould not say anything to her on account of the children, and he did notmeet her eyes; but he was sure they did not avoid his purposely, it justhappened that they did not meet. And during the day there was nothing inher behaviour to suggest a consciousness in her that anything had passedbetween them. Perhaps she was a little more talkative than usual. Whenthey were all sitting again in the hop-field she told her mother hownaughty Philip had been in not coming out of the water till he was bluewith cold. It was incredible, and yet it seemed that the only effect ofthe incident of the night before was to arouse in her a feeling ofprotection towards him: she had the same instinctive desire to mother himas she had with regard to her brothers and sisters.It was not till the evening that he found himself alone with her. She wascooking the supper, and Philip was sitting on the grass by the side of thefire. Mrs. Athelny had gone down to the village to do some shopping, andthe children were scattered in various pursuits of their own. Philiphesitated to speak. He was very nervous. Sally attended to her businesswith serene competence and she accepted placidly the silence which to himwas so embarrassing. He did not know how to begin. Sally seldom spokeunless she was spoken to or had something particular to say. At last hecould not bear it any longer."You're not angry with me, Sally?" he blurted out suddenly.She raised her eyes quietly and looked at him without emotion."Me? No. Why should I be?"He was taken aback and did not reply. She took the lid off the pot,stirred the contents, and put it on again. A savoury smell spread over theair. She looked at him once more, with a quiet smile which barelyseparated her lips; it was more a smile of the eyes."I always liked you," she said.His heart gave a great thump against his ribs, and he felt the bloodrushing to his cheeks. He forced a faint laugh."I didn't know that.""That's because you're a silly.""I don't know why you liked me.""I don't either." She put a little more wood on the fire. "I knew I likedyou that day you came when you'd been sleeping out and hadn't had anythingto eat, d'you remember? And me and mother, we got Thorpy's bed ready foryou."He flushed again, for he did not know that she was aware of that incident.He remembered it himself with horror and shame."That's why I wouldn't have anything to do with the others. You rememberthat young fellow mother wanted me to have? I let him come to tea becausehe bothered so, but I knew I'd say no."Philip was so surprised that he found nothing to say. There was a queerfeeling in his heart; he did not know what it was, unless it washappiness. Sally stirred the pot once more."I wish those children would make haste and come. I don't know wherethey've got to. Supper's ready now.""Shall I go and see if I can find them?" said Philip.It was a relief to talk about practical things."Well, it wouldn't be a bad idea, I must say.... There's mother coming."Then, as he got up, she looked at him without embarrassment."Shall I come for a walk with you tonight when I've put the children tobed?""Yes.""Well, you wait for me down by the stile, and I'll come when I'm ready."He waited under the stars, sitting on the stile, and the hedges with theirripening blackberries were high on each side of him. From the earth roserich scents of the night, and the air was soft and still. His heart wasbeating madly. He could not understand anything of what happened to him.He associated passion with cries and tears and vehemence, and there wasnothing of this in Sally; but he did not know what else but passion couldhave caused her to give herself. But passion for him? He would not havebeen surprised if she had fallen to her cousin, Peter Gann, tall, spare,and straight, with his sunburned face and long, easy stride. Philipwondered what she saw in him. He did not know if she loved him as hereckoned love. And yet? He was convinced of her purity. He had a vagueinkling that many things had combined, things that she felt though wasunconscious of, the intoxication of the air and the hops and the night,the healthy instincts of the natural woman, a tenderness that overflowed,and an affection that had in it something maternal and something sisterly;and she gave all she had to give because her heart was full of charity.He heard a step on the road, and a figure came out of the darkness."Sally," he murmured.She stopped and came to the stile, and with her came sweet, clean odoursof the country-side. She seemed to carry with her scents of the new-mownhay, and the savour of ripe hops, and the freshness of young grass. Herlips were soft and full against his, and her lovely, strong body was firmwithin his arms."Milk and honey," he said. "You're like milk and honey."He made her close her eyes and kissed her eyelids, first one and then theother. Her arm, strong and muscular, was bare to the elbow; he passed hishand over it and wondered at its beauty; it gleamed in the darkness; shehad the skin that Rubens painted, astonishingly fair and transparent, andon one side were little golden hairs. It was the arm of a Saxon goddess;but no immortal had that exquisite, homely naturalness; and Philip thoughtof a cottage garden with the dear flowers which bloom in all men's hearts,of the hollyhock and the red and white rose which is called York andLancaster, and of love--in-a-mist and Sweet William, and honeysuckle,larkspur, and London Pride."How can you care for me?" he said. "I'm insignificant and crippled andordinary and ugly."She took his face in both her hands and kissed his lips."You're an old silly, that's what you are," she said.