Part Two
Chapter 10: Cecil as a Humourist
(continued)
"Murdered his wife?" said Mrs. Honeychurch. "Lucy, don't desert
us--go on playing bumble-puppy. Really, the Pension Bertolini
must have been the oddest place. That's the second murderer I've
heard of as being there. Whatever was Charlotte doing to stop?
By-the-by, we really must ask Charlotte here some time."
Mr. Beebe could recall no second murderer. He suggested that his
hostess was mistaken. At the hint of opposition she warmed. She
was perfectly sure that there had been a second tourist of whom
the same story had been told. The name escaped her. What was the
name? Oh, what was the name? She clasped her knees for the name.
Something in Thackeray. She struck her matronly forehead.
Lucy asked her brother whether Cecil was in.
"Oh, don't go!" he cried, and tried to catch her by the ankles.
"I must go," she said gravely. "Don't be silly. You always overdo
it when you play."
As she left them her mother's shout of "Harris!" shivered the
tranquil air, and reminded her that she had told a lie and had
never put it right. Such a senseless lie, too, yet it shattered
her nerves and made her connect these Emersons, friends of
Cecil's, with a pair of nondescript tourists. Hitherto truth had
come to her naturally. She saw that for the future she must be
more vigilant, and be--absolutely truthful? Well, at all events,
she must not tell lies. She hurried up the garden, still flushed
with shame. A word from Cecil would soothe her, she was sure.
"Cecil!"
"Hullo!" he called, and leant out of the smoking-room window. He
seemed in high spirits. "I was hoping you'd come. I heard you all
bear-gardening, but there's better fun up here. I, even I, have
won a great victory for the Comic Muse. George Meredith's right--
the cause of Comedy and the cause of Truth are really the same;
and I, even I, have found tenants for the distressful Cissie
Villa. Don't be angry! Don't be angry! You'll forgive me when you
hear it all."
|