The Last September by Elizabeth Bowen

Author:Elizabeth Bowen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780385720144
Publisher: Anchor
Published: 1952-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

THOUGH to tell you the truth,” said Lady Naylor, circulating among the begonia beds at Mount Isabel, “though I am in a way sorry, I am not altogether sorry that she is going.”

She glanced closely at Mrs. Carey’s profile, to see that her exact shade of meaning had been taken. Mrs. Carey nodded and wrinkled up her forehead, very profoundly. She was thinking about something else. She stooped, pulled off three dead begonias and crumpled them into her pocket.

“Because if that should be what she is going to do, I should rather she did not do it with us. For one thing, the Lawes are relations, they are cousins of a cousin of mine by marriage. One does not know what they might not say about influence. Though no one could interfere less than I do, one never knows, does one, what might go round through the family? And really I am superstitious about her visits; already this time she has lost a suitcase. One cannot help feeling responsible.”

“But are you certain,” asked Mrs. Carey, looking critically round this part of her garden as though she were wishing to have it all up and replant it again, “that she is going to break it off?”

“I shouldn’t like to say. She has got into a kind of a nervous habit of sending telegrams. Up and down, up and down all day to the village. Surely that is abnormal in an engaged girl? It is not even as if they were buying a house or anything. It’s bound to be so un-intimate—unless she does not consider the postmistress, and I do think surely she ought to because it is our postmistress. And another thing—I don’t really know that I ought to speak of this, but I really cannot discuss it with poor little Francie—I don’t think she has at all a good effect on Hugo. You know what he’s like? Well, he’s quite different. Quite empressé … But I don’t expect there is anything in that really. One so easily says too much.”

She paused, sighed and waited. Mrs. Carey looked at her mildly. “Oh?” she said. “Oh yes. But how do you mean?”

“I know Francie notices, I know she is unhappy. Of course she always is unhappy, but she’s unhappy now in a different way. Of course one hates to say it, but one does know what Hugo is… .”

“Oh—is he really?” said Mrs. Carey, startled.

“What Hugo needs is real trouble. Now if poor little Francie died—”

“Is she seriously—?”

“No, I feel that he will die first, he has just that way of avoiding things. Look how he didn’t marry Laura … However, I expect I am being quite ridiculous; I hate to exaggerate—it is from having Laurence so much in the house. Have you noticed how clever young men—-? I believe he’s worse in England; they think him amusing. Of course there is no harm in Marda; one has known her since she was little. She’s only wild—two of her uncles were like that.

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