CHAPTER XXXIX

Charles and Tibby met at Ducie Street, where the latter was staying.

Their interview was short and absurd. They had nothing in common but the

English language, and tried by its help to express what neither of them

understood. Charles saw in Helen the family foe. He had singled her out

as the most dangerous of the Schlegels, and, angry as he was, looked

forward to telling his wife how right he had been. His mind was made up

at once; the girl must be got out of the way before she disgraced them

farther. If occasion offered she might be married to a villain, or,

possibly, to a fool. But this was a concession to morality, it formed

no part of his main scheme. Honest and hearty was Charles’s dislike, and

the past spread itself out very clearly before him; hatred is a skilful

compositor. As if they were heads in a note-book, he ran through all

the incidents of the Schlegels’ campaign: the attempt to compromise his

brother, his mother’s legacy, his father’s marriage, the introduction

of the furniture, the unpacking of the same. He had not yet heard of the

request to sleep at Howards End; that was to be their master-stroke and

the opportunity for his. But he already felt that Howards End was the

objective, and, though he disliked the house, was determined to defend

it.

Tibby, on the other hand, had no opinions. He stood above the

conventions: his sister had a right to do what she thought right. It is

not difficult to stand above the conventions when we leave no hostages

among them; men can always be more unconventional than women, and a

bachelor of independent means need encounter no difficulties at all.

Unlike Charles, Tibby had money enough; his ancestors had earned it for

him, and if he shocked the people in one set of lodgings he had only to

move into another. His was the leisure without sympathy--an attitude as

fatal as the strenuous; a little cold culture may be raised on it, but

no art. His sisters had seen the family danger, and had never forgotten

to discount the gold islets that raised them from the sea. Tibby gave

all the praise to himself, and so despised the struggling and the

submerged.

Hence the absurdity of the interview; the gulf between them was economic

as well as spiritual. But several facts passed; Charles pressed for them

with an impertinence that the undergraduate could not withstand. On what

date had Helen gone abroad? To whom? (Charles was anxious to fasten the

scandal on Germany.) Then, changing his tactics, he said roughly: “I

suppose you realise that you are your sister’s protector?”

“In what sense?”

“If a man played about with my sister, I’d send a bullet through him,

but perhaps you don’t mind.”

“I mind very much,” protested Tibby.

“Who d’ye suspect, then? Speak out man. One always suspects some one.”

“No one. I don’t think so.” Involuntarily he blushed. He had remembered

the scene in his Oxford rooms.

“You are hiding something,” said Charles. As interviews go, he got the

best of this one. “When you saw her last, did she mention any one’s

name? Yes or no!” he thundered, so that Tibby started.

“In my rooms she mentioned some friends, called the Basts.”

“Who are the Basts?”

“People--friends of hers at Evie’s wedding.”

“I don’t remember. But, by great Scott, I do! My aunt told me about some

rag-tag. Was she full of them when you saw her? Is there a man? Did she

speak of the man? Or--look here--have you had any dealings with him?”

Tibby was silent. Without intending it, he had betrayed his sister’s

confidence; he was not enough interested in human life to see where

things will lead to. He had a strong regard for honesty, and his word,

once given, had always been kept up to now. He was deeply vexed, not

only for the harm he had done Helen, but for the flaw he had discovered

in his own equipment.

“I see--you are in his confidence. They met at your rooms. Oh, what a

family, what a family! God help the poor pater--”

And Tibby found himself alone.