The Dark Flower | Page 4

that afternoon of early June with his short
gown drooping down his arms, and no cap on his thick dark hair. A
youth of middle height, and built as if he had come of two very
different strains, one sturdy, the other wiry and light. His face, too, was
a curious blend, for, though it was strongly formed, its expression was
rather soft and moody. His eyes--dark grey, with a good deal of light in
them, and very black lashes--had a way of looking beyond what they
saw, so that he did not seem always to be quite present; but his smile
was exceedingly swift, uncovering teeth as white as a negro's, and
giving his face a peculiar eagerness. People stared at him a little as he
passed--since in eighteen hundred and eighty he was before his time in
not wearing a cap. Women especially were interested; they perceived
that he took no notice of them, seeming rather to be looking into
distance, and making combinations in his soul.
Did he know of what he was thinking--did he ever know quite
definitely at that time of his life, when things, especially those beyond
the immediate horizon, were so curious and interesting?--the things he
was going to see and do when he had got through Oxford, where
everybody was 'awfully decent' to him and 'all right' of course, but not
so very interesting.
He was on his way to his tutor's to read an essay on Oliver Cromwell;
and under the old wall, which had once hedged in the town, he took out
of his pocket a beast. It was a small tortoise, and, with an extreme
absorption, he watched it move its little inquiring head, feeling it all the
time with his short, broad fingers, as though to discover exactly how it
was made. It was mighty hard in the back! No wonder poor old
Aeschylus felt a bit sick when it fell on his head! The ancients used it
to stand the world on--a pagoda world, perhaps, of men and beasts and
trees, like that carving on his guardian's Chinese cabinet. The Chinese
made jolly beasts and trees, as if they believed in everything having a
soul, and not only being just fit for people to eat or drive or make
houses of. If only the Art School would let him model things 'on his
own,' instead of copying and copying--it was just as if they imagined it
would be dangerous to let you think out anything for yourself!

He held the tortoise to his waistcoat, and let it crawl, till, noticing that it
was gnawing the corner of his essay, he put it back into his pocket.
What would his tutor do if he were to know it was there?--cock his
head a little to one side, and say: "Ah! there are things, Lennan, not
dreamed of in my philosophy!" Yes, there were a good many not
dreamed of by 'old Stormer,' who seemed so awfully afraid of anything
that wasn't usual; who seemed always laughing at you, for fear that you
should laugh at him. There were lots of people in Oxford like that. It
was stupid. You couldn't do anything decent if you were afraid of being
laughed at! Mrs. Stormer wasn't like that; she did things because--they
came into her head. But then, of course, she was Austrian, not English,
and ever so much younger than old Stormer.
And having reached the door of his tutor's house, he rang the bell. . . .
II
When Anna Stormer came into the study she found her husband
standing at the window with his head a little on one side--a tall,
long-legged figure in clothes of a pleasant tweed, and wearing a low
turn-over collar (not common in those days) and a blue silk tie, which
she had knitted, strung through a ring. He was humming and gently
tapping the window-pane with his well-kept finger-nails. Though
celebrated for the amount of work he got through, she never caught him
doing any in this house of theirs, chosen because it was more than half
a mile away from the College which held the 'dear young clowns,' as he
called them, of whom he was tutor.
He did not turn--it was not, of course, his habit to notice what was not
absolutely necessary--but she felt that he was aware of her. She came to
the window seat and sat down. He looked round at that, and said: "Ah!"
It was a murmur almost of admiration, not usual from him, since, with
the exception of certain portions of the classics, it was hardly his
custom to admire. But she knew that she was looking her best sitting
there, her really beautiful figure poised, the sun shining on her brown
hair, and