The Voyage Out Virginia Woolf (the chimp paradox .txt) 📖

you must make allowances for Hirst. He’s lived all his life in front of a looking-glass, so to speak, in a beautiful panelled room, hung with Japanese prints and lovely old chairs and tables, just one splash of colour, you know, in the right place⁠—between the windows I think it is⁠—and there he sits hour after hour with his toes on the fender, talking about philosophy and God and his liver and his heart and the hearts of his friends. They’re all broken. You can’t expect him to be at his best in a ballroom. He wants a cosy, smoky, masculine place, where he can stretch his legs out, and only speak when he’s got something to say. For myself, I find it rather dreary. But I do respect it. They’re all so much in earnest. They do take the serious things very seriously.”

The description of Hirst’s way of life interested Rachel so much that she almost forgot her private grudge against him, and her respect revived.

“They are really very clever then?” she asked.

“Of course they are. So far as brains go I think it’s true what he said the other day; they’re the cleverest people in England. But⁠—you ought to take him in hand,” he added. “There’s a great deal more in him than’s ever been got at. He wants someone to laugh at him.⁠ ⁠… The idea of Hirst telling you that you’ve had no experiences! Poor old Hirst!”

They had been pacing up and down the terrace while they talked, and now one by one the dark windows were uncurtained by an invisible hand, and panes of light fell regularly at equal intervals upon the grass. They stopped to look in at the drawing-room, and perceived Mr. Pepper writing alone at a table.

“There’s Pepper writing to his aunt,” said Hewet. “She must be a very remarkable old lady, eighty-five he tells me, and he takes her for walking tours in the New Forest.⁠ ⁠… Pepper!” he cried, rapping on the window. “Go and do your duty. Miss Allan expects you.”

When they came to the windows of the ballroom, the swing of the dancers and the lilt of the music was irresistible.

“Shall we?” said Hewet, and they clasped hands and swept off magnificently into the great swirling pool. Although this was only the second time they had met, the first time they had seen a man and woman kissing each other, and the second time Mr. Hewet had found that a young woman angry is very like a child. So that when they joined hands in the dance they felt more at their ease than is usual.

It was midnight and the dance was now at its height. Servants were peeping in at the windows; the garden was sprinkled with the white shapes of couples sitting out. Mrs. Thornbury and Mrs. Elliot sat side by side under a palm tree, holding fans, handkerchiefs, and brooches deposited in their laps by flushed maidens. Occasionally they exchanged comments.

“Miss Warrington does look happy,” said Mrs. Elliot; they both smiled; they both sighed.

“He has a great deal of character,” said Mrs. Thornbury, alluding to Arthur.

“And character is what one wants,” said Mrs. Elliot. “Now that young man is clever enough,” she added, nodding at Hirst, who came past with Miss Allan on his arm.

“He does not look strong,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “His complexion is not good.⁠—Shall I tear it off?” she asked, for Rachel had stopped, conscious of a long strip trailing behind her.

“I hope you are enjoying yourselves?” Hewet asked the ladies.

“This is a very familiar position for me!” smiled Mrs. Thornbury. “I have brought out five daughters⁠—and they all loved dancing! You love it too, Miss Vinrace?” she asked, looking at Rachel with maternal eyes. “I know I did when I was your age. How I used to beg my mother to let me stay⁠—and now I sympathise with the poor mothers⁠—but I sympathise with the daughters too!”

She smiled sympathetically, and at the same time rather keenly, at Rachel.

“They seem to find a great deal to say to each other,” said Mrs. Elliot, looking significantly at the backs of the couple as they turned away. “Did you notice at the picnic? He was the only person who could make her utter.”

“Her father is a very interesting man,” said Mrs. Thornbury. “He has one of the largest shipping businesses in Hull. He made a very able reply, you remember, to Mr. Asquith at the last election. It is so interesting to find that a man of his experience is a strong Protectionist.”

She would have liked to discuss politics, which interested her more than personalities, but Mrs. Elliot would only talk about the Empire in a less abstract form.

“I hear there are dreadful accounts from England about the rats,” she said. “A sister-in-law, who lives at Norwich, tells me it has been quite unsafe to order poultry. The plague⁠—you see. It attacks the rats, and through them other creatures.”

“And the local authorities are not taking proper steps?” asked Mrs. Thornbury.

“That she does not say. But she describes the attitude of the educated people⁠—who should know better⁠—as callous in the extreme. Of course, my sister-in-law is one of those active modern women, who always takes things up, you know⁠—the kind of woman one admires, though one does not feel, at least I do not feel⁠—but then she has a constitution of iron.”

Mrs. Elliot, brought back to the consideration of her own delicacy, here sighed.

“A very animated face,” said Mrs. Thornbury, looking at Evelyn M. who had stopped near them to pin tight a scarlet flower at her breast. It would not stay, and, with a spirited gesture of impatience, she thrust it into her partner’s buttonhole. He was a tall melancholy youth, who received the gift as a knight might receive his lady’s token.

“Very trying to the eyes,” was Mrs. Eliot’s next remark, after watching the yellow whirl in which so few of the whirlers had either name or character for her, for a few minutes. Bursting out of the crowd, Helen approached them, and took a vacant chair.

“May I sit by you?”