At length Hermione rose and came near to her.
'Your sister has come home?' she said.
'Yes,' said Ursula.
'And does she like being back in Beldover?' 'No,' said Ursula.
'No, I wonder she can bear it. It takes all my strength, to bear the
ugliness of this district, when I stay here. Won't you come and see me?
Won't you come with your sister to stay at Breadalby for a few
days?--do--' 'Thank you very much,' said Ursula.
'Then I will write to you,' said Hermione. 'You think your sister will
come? I should be so glad. I think she is wonderful. I think some of
her work is really wonderful. I have two water-wagtails, carved in
wood, and painted--perhaps you have seen it?' 'No,' said Ursula.
'I think it is perfectly wonderful--like a flash of instinct.' 'Her little carvings ARE strange,' said Ursula.
'Perfectly beautiful--full of primitive passion--' 'Isn't it queer that she always likes little things?--she must always
work small things, that one can put between one's hands, birds and tiny
animals. She likes to look through the wrong end of the opera glasses,
and see the world that way--why is it, do you think?' Hermione looked down at Ursula with that long, detached scrutinising
gaze that excited the younger woman.
'Yes,' said Hermione at length. 'It is curious. The little things seem
to be more subtle to her--' 'But they aren't, are they? A mouse isn't any more subtle than a lion,
is it?' Again Hermione looked down at Ursula with that long scrutiny, as if she
were following some train of thought of her own, and barely attending
to the other's speech.
'I don't know,' she replied.
'Rupert, Rupert,' she sang mildly, calling him to her. He approached in
silence.
'Are little things more subtle than big things?' she asked, with the
odd grunt of laughter in her voice, as if she were making game of him
in the question.
'Dunno,' he said.
'I hate subtleties,' said Ursula.
Hermione looked at her slowly.
'Do you?' she said.
'I always think they are a sign of weakness,' said Ursula, up in arms,
as if her prestige were threatened.
Hermione took no notice. Suddenly her face puckered, her brow was knit
with thought, she seemed twisted in troublesome effort for utterance.
'Do you really think, Rupert,' she asked, as if Ursula were not
present, 'do you really think it is worth while? Do you really think
the children are better for being roused to consciousness?' A dark flash went over his face, a silent fury. He was hollow-cheeked
and pale, almost unearthly. And the woman, with her serious,
conscience-harrowing question tortured him on the quick.