The Passionate Year by James Hilton

Author:James Hilton [Hilton, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Novel
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2013-04-05T22:00:00+00:00

IV

She was silent. She sat in one of the chairs with her eyes looking straight into the fire; while he took off his coat and hat and drew up his own chair opposite to hers she neither moved nor spoke. It seemed to him as he watched her that the room grew redder and warmer and more melancholy; the flames lapped so noisily in the silence that he had for an instant the absurd fear that the scores of sleepers in the dormitories would be awakened. Then he heard, very faintly from above, what he imagined must be an especially loud snore; it made him smile. As he smiled he saw Helen’s eyes turned suddenly upon him; he blushed as if caught in some guilty act. He said: “Can you hear somebody snoring up in the Senior dormitory?”

She stared at him curiously for a moment and then replied: “No, and neither can you. You said that to make conversation.”

“I didn’t!” he cried, with genuine indignation. “I distinctly heard it. That’s what made me smile.”

“And do yon really think that the sound of anybody snoring in the Senior dormitory would reach us in here? Why, we never hear the maids in a morning and they make ever such a noise!”

“Yes, but then there are so many other noises to drown it. However, it may have been my imagination.”

“Or it may have been your invention, eh?”

“I tell you, Helen, I did think that I heard it! It wasn’t my invention. What reason on earth should I have for inventing it? Oh, well, anyway, it’s such a trifling matter—it’s not worth arguing about.”

“Then let’s stop arguing. You started it.”

Silence again. The melancholy in the atmosphere was charged now with an added quality, something that weighed and threatened and was dangerous. He knew that Helen had something pressing on her mind, and that until she flung it off there would be no friendliness with her. And he wanted friendliness. He could not endure the torture of her bitter silences.

“Helen,” he said, nervously eager, “Helen, there’s something the matter. Tell me what it is.”

“There’s nothing the matter.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Then why are you so silent?”

“Because I would rather be silent than make conversation.”

“That’s sarcastic.”

“Is it? If you think it is—”

“Helen, please be kind to me. If you go on as you are doing I’m sure I shall either cry or lose my temper. I’m tired to death after all the work of the concert and I simply can’t bear this attitude of yours.”

“Well, I can’t change my attitude to please you.”

“Apparently not.”

“Now who’s sarcastic? Good heavens, do you think I’ve nothing to do but suit your mood when you come home tired at one o’clock in the morning-You spend half the night with some other woman and then when you come home, tired out, you expect me to soothe and make a fuss of you!”

“Helen, that’s a lie! I walked straight home with Clare. You specially asked me to do that.”

“I didn’t specially ask you to stay out with her till one o’clock in the morning.

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