Howards End | Page 8

though the Foreign Things did
admirably and the Nottingham and Derby declined with the steady
dignity of which only Home Rails are capable, Mrs. Munt never ceased
to rejoice, and to say, "I did manage that, at all events. When the smash
comes poor Margaret will have a nest-egg to fall back upon." This year
Helen came of age, and exactly the same thing happened in Helen's
case; she also would shift her money out of Consols, but she, too,
almost without being pressed, consecrated a fraction of it to the
Nottingham and Derby Railway. So far so good, but in social matters
their aunt had accomplished nothing. Sooner or later the girls would
enter on the process known as throwing themselves away, and if they

had delayed hitherto, it was only that they might throw themselves
more vehemently in the future. They saw too many people at Wickham
Place--unshaven musicians, an actress even, German cousins (one
knows what foreigners are), acquaintances picked up at Continental
hotels (one knows what they are too). It was interesting, and down at
Swanage no one appreciated culture more than Mrs. Munt; but it was
dangerous, and disaster was bound to come. How right she was, and
how lucky to be on the spot when the disaster came!
The train sped northward, under innumerable tunnels. It was only an
hour's journey, but Mrs. Munt had to raise and lower the window again
and again. She passed through the South Welwyn Tunnel, saw light for
a moment, and entered the North Welwyn Tunnel, of tragic fame. She
traversed the immense viaduct, whose arches span untroubled meadows
and the dreamy flow of Tewin Water. She skirted the parks of
politicians. At times the Great North Road accompanied her, more
suggestive of infinity than any railway, awakening, after a nap of a
hundred years, to such life as is conferred by the stench of motor-cars,
and to such culture as is implied by the advertisements of antibilious
pills. To history, to tragedy, to the past, to the future, Mrs. Munt
remained equally indifferent; hers but to concentrate on the end of her
journey, and to rescue poor Helen from this dreadful mess.
The station for Howards End was at Hilton, one of the large villages
that are strung so frequently along the North Road, and that owe their
size to the traffic of coaching and pre-coaching days. Being near
London, it had not shared in the rural decay, and its long High Street
had budded out right and left into residential estates. For about a mile a
series of tiled and slated houses passed before Mrs. Munt's inattentive
eyes, a series broken at one point by six Danish tumuli that stood
shoulder to shoulder along the highroad, tombs of soldiers. Beyond
these tumuli, habitations thickened, and the train came to a standstill in
a tangle that was almost a town.
The station, like the scenery, like Helen's letters, struck an
indeterminate note. Into which country will it lead, England or
Suburbia? It was new, it had island platforms and a subway, and the

superficial comfort exacted by business men. But it held hints of local
life, personal intercourse, as even Mrs. Munt was to discover.
"I want a house," she confided to the ticket boy. "Its name is Howards
Lodge. Do you know where it is?"
"Mr. Wilcox!" the boy called.
A young man in front of them turned around.
"She's wanting Howards End."
There was nothing for it but to go forward, though Mrs. Munt was too
much agitated even to stare at the stranger. But remembering that there
were two brothers, she had the sense to say to him, "Excuse me asking,
but are you the younger Mr. Wilcox or the elder?"
"The younger. Can I do anything for you?"
"Oh, well"--she controlled herself with difficulty. "Really. Are you?
I--" She moved; away from the ticket boy and lowered her voice. "I am
Miss Schlegel's aunt. I ought to introduce myself, oughtn't I? My name
is Mrs. Munt."
She was conscious that he raised his cap and said quite coolly, "Oh,
rather; Miss Schlegel is stopping with us. Did you want to see her?"
"Possibly."
"I'll call you a cab. No; wait a mo--" He thought. "Our motor's here. I'll
run you up in it."
"That is very kind."
"Not at all, if you'll just wait till they bring out a parcel from the office.
This way."
"My niece is not with you by any chance?"

"No; I came over with my father. He has gone on north in your train.
You'll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You're coming up to lunch, I hope?"
"I should like to come UP," said Mrs. Munt, not committing herself to
nourishment until she had studied Helen's lover a little more. He