This Is the End | Page 9

now in this wonderful life I
lead, my Friend won't let me think of it. A deadlock is a dreadful
accident, isn't it? because in theory it doesn't exist. I am working for a
new end now. Isn't it splendid that there is really no Place Called Stop?
There is always an end beyond the end, always something to love and
look forward to. Life is a luxury, isn't it? there's no use in it--but how
delightful!"
"You haven't told me about the sea yet," said Kew.
"Because I don't think you'd believe me. We were always liars, weren't
we? That's because we're romantic, or if it's not romance, the symptoms
of the disease are very like. Why can't we get rid of it all as Anonyma
does? She has no gift except the gift of being able to get rid of
superfluous romance. She takes that great ease impersonally, her pose
is, 'It's a gift from Heaven, and an infernal bore.' But I never get nearer
to joy than I do in this Secret World of mine, and with my Secret
Friend."
"But what is it? What is he like?"
"I should be guilty of the murder of a secret if I told you. He isn't
particularly romantic. I have seen him in a poor light; I have watched
him in a most undignified temper; I have known him when he wanted a
shave. I don't exist in this World of mine. I am just a column of thin air,
watching with my soul."
"Then you're really telling lies to Anonyma when you write about it all?
I'm not reproaching you of course, I only want to get my mind clear."
"I suppose they're lies," assented Jay ruefully, "though it seems
sacrilege to say so, for I know these things better than I know myself.

But Truth--or Untruth, what's the use of words like that when miracles
are in question?"
"Oh, damn this What's the Use Trick," said Kew. "I suppose you picked
that up in this private Heaven of yours. The whole thing's
absolutely--My dear little Jay, am I offending you?"
"Yes," said Jay.
Kew sighed.
Chloris sighed too. Chloris had played the thankless part of third in this
interview. She was Jay's friend, a terrier with a black eye. She shared
Jay's burning desire to be of use, and, like most embryo reformers, she
had a poor taste in dress. She wore her tail at an aimless angle, without
chic; her markings were all lopsided. But her soul was ardent, and her
life was always directed by some rather inscrutable theory or other. As
a puppy she had been an inspired optimist, with legs like strips of
elastic clumsily attached to a winged spirit. Later she had adopted a
vigorous anarchist policy, and had inaugurated what was probably
known in her set as the "Bite at Sight Campaign." Cured of this, she
had become a gentle Socialist, and embraced the belief that all
property--especially edible property--should be shared. Appetites, she
argued, were meant to be appeased, and the preservation of game--or
anything else--in the larder was an offence against the community.
Now, at the age of five or so, she affected cynicism, pretended
temporarily that life had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and sighed
frequently.
"Kew," said Jay presently, "will you promise not to tell the Family you
saw me? I don't want it to know about me. After all, theories are
driving me, and theories don't concern that Family of ours. What's the
use of a Family? (I'm saying this just to exasperate you.) A Family's
just a little knot of not necessarily congenial people, with Fate rubbing
their heads together so as to strike sparks of love. Love--what's the use
of Love? I'd like to catch that Love and box his ears, making such a
fool of the world. What's the use?"
"God knows," said Kew. "Cheer up, my friend, I promise I won't tell
the Family I've seen you, or anything about you." At the same moment
he remembered the motor tour.
"Promise faithfully?"
"Faithfully."

"It's a lovely word faithful, isn't it?" she said, wriggling in her chair.
"Yours faithfully is a most beautiful ending to a letter. Why is it that
faith with a little F is such a perfect thing, and yet Faith, grown-up
Faith in Church, is so tiring?"
"Perhaps one is overworked and the other isn't," suggested Kew.
As he went out into the darkness the noise of London sprang into his
ears, and the remote brown room where he had left Jay seemed to
become divided from him by great distances. The town was like a
garden, and he, an insect, pressed through its undergrowth. The rare
lamps and the stars flowered above him.
My yesterday has gone, has