This Is the End | Page 6

Stella Benson
could talk like that about the
Spring without any preparation.
"The idea originally," began Mr. Russell tentatively, "was not only
formed to allow Mrs. Gustus to enjoy the Spring, but also to make you

quite strong before you go back to work. And, again, not only that, but
also to try and trace your sister Jay."
Will you please imagine that continual intercourse with very talkative
people had made Mr. Russell an adept at vocal compression. He had
now almost lost the use of his vowels, and if I wrote as he spoke, the
effect would be like an advertisement for a housemaid during the
shortage of wood-pulp. I spare you this.
"There are three objections to the plan," said Kew. "First, that
Anonyma doesn't really want to kiss the Spring; second, that I don't
really want convalescent treatment; third, that Jay doesn't really want to
be traced."
When Mrs. Gustus did not know the answer to an objection she left it
unanswered. This is, of course, the simplest way. She snapped her
notebook.
"Oh, Kew," she said, "you promised you'd be an angel." The double
row of semi-detached buttons down her breast trembled with eagerness.
"Angeller and angeller," sighed Kew, "I never committed myself so
far."
"I have a clue with which to trace Jay," said Mrs. Gustus. "I had a letter
from her this morning."
Kew was a satisfactory person to surprise. He is never supercilious.
"You heard from Jay!" he said, in a voice as high as his eyebrows.
The letter which Mrs. Gustus showed to Kew may be quoted here:
"This place has stood since the year twelve something, and its windows
look down without even the interruption of a sill at the coming and
going of the tides. It has hardly any garden, and immediately to the
right and the left of it the green down brims over the top of the cliff like
the froth of ale over a silver goblet. To-night the tide is low, the sea is
golden where the shallow waves break upon the sand, and ghostly
green in the distance. When the tide is high, the sound and the sight of
it seem to meet and make one thing. The waves press up the cliff then,
and fall back on each other. Do you know the lines that are written on
the face of a disappointed wave? To-night the clouds are like castles
built on the plain of the sea. There is an aeroplane at this moment--dim
as a little thought--coming between two turrets of cloud. I suppose it is
that I can hear, but it sounds like the distant singing of the moon. I have
come here to count up my theories, to count them and pile them up like

money, in heaps, according to their value. Theories are such beautiful
things, there must be some use in them. Or perhaps they are like money
from a distant country, and not in currency here. Yet just as sheer metal,
they must have some value.... It is wonderful that such happiness
should come to me, and that it should last. I have the Sea and a Friend;
there is nothing in the world I lack, and nothing that I regret...."
"What better clue could you want?" asked Mrs. Gustus. "We will take
Christina round the sea-coast."
"Looking for silver cliffs and a golden sea," sighed Kew.
I don't know if I have mentioned or conveyed to you that Mrs. Gustus
was a determined woman. At any rate she was, and it would therefore
be waste of time to describe the gradual defeat of Kew. The final stage
was the despatch of Kew to call on Nana in the Brown Borough. Jay's
letter had the Brown Borough postmark, so it had apparently been sent
to Nana to post. Nana might be described as the Second Clue in the
pursuit of Jay. She was the Family's only link with Jay. The one
drawback of Nana as a clue was that she was never to be found. Mrs.
Gustus had called six times, but had been repulsed on each occasion by
a totally dumb front door. But then Nana never had liked Anonyma.
Nana was simple herself in an amateurish, unconscious sort of way, and
I expect she disliked Anonyma's professional rivalry in the matter of
simplicity. But Kew was always a favourite.
The 'bus roared up the canyons of the City, and its voice accompanied
Kew in his tuneful meditations. A 'bus is not really well adapted for
meditation. On my feet I can stride across unseen miles musing on love,
in a taxi I can think about to-morrow's dinner, but on a 'bus my
thoughts will go no further than my eyes can see. So Kew, although he
thought he was thinking of
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