Part Two
Chapter 19: Lying to Mr. Emerson
(continued)
Terror came over her, and she lied again. She made the long,
convincing speech that she had made to Mr. Beebe, and intended to
make to the world when she announced that her engagement was no
more. He heard her in silence, and then said: "My dear, I am
worried about you. It seems to me"--dreamily; she was not
alarmed--"that you are in a muddle."
She shook her head.
"Take an old man's word; there's nothing worse than a muddle in
all the world. It is easy to face Death and Fate, and the things
that sound so dreadful. It is on my muddles that I look back with
horror--on the things that I might have avoided. We can help one
another but little. I used to think I could teach young people
the whole of life, but I know better now, and all my teaching of
George has come down to this: beware of muddle. Do you remember
in that church, when you pretended to be annoyed with me and
weren't? Do you remember before, when you refused the room with
the view? Those were muddles--little, but ominous--and I am
fearing that you are in one now." She was silent. "Don't trust
me, Miss Honeychurch. Though life is very glorious, it is
difficult." She was still silent. "'Life' wrote a friend of mine,
'is a public performance on the violin, in which you must learn
the instrument as you go along.' I think he puts it well. Man has
to pick up the use of his functions as he goes along--especially
the function of Love." Then he burst out excitedly; "That's it;
that's what I mean. You love George!" And after his long
preamble, the three words burst against Lucy like waves from the
open sea.
"But you do," he went on, not waiting for contradiction. "You
love the boy body and soul, plainly, directly, as he loves you,
and no other word expresses it. You won't marry the other man for
his sake."
"How dare you!" gasped Lucy, with the roaring of waters in her
ears. "Oh, how like a man!--I mean, to suppose that a woman is
always thinking about a man."
"But you are."
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