Ann Veronica: A Modern Love Story Read online

  "And if she can't have the right one?

  "We've developed such a quality of preference!"

  She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. "Oh, but life is difficult!"she groaned. "When you loosen the tangle in one place you tie a knot inanother.... Before there is any change, any real change, I shall bedead--dead--dead and finished--two hundred years!..."

  Part 5

  One afternoon, while everything was still, the wardress heard her cryout suddenly and alarmingly, and with great and unmistakable passion,"Why in the name of goodness did I burn that twenty pounds?"

  Part 6

  She sat regarding her dinner. The meat was coarse and disagreeablyserved.

  "I suppose some one makes a bit on the food," she said....

  "One has such ridiculous ideas of the wicked common people and thebeautiful machinery of order that ropes them in. And here are theseplaces, full of contagion!

  "Of course, this is the real texture of life, this is what we refinedsecure people forget. We think the whole thing is straight and noble atbottom, and it isn't. We think if we just defy the friends we have andgo out into the world everything will become easy and splendid.One doesn't realize that even the sort of civilization one has atMorningside Park is held together with difficulty. By policemen onemustn't shock.

  "This isn't a world for an innocent girl to walk about in. It's a worldof dirt and skin diseases and parasites. It's a world in which thelaw can be a stupid pig and the police-stations dirty dens. One wantshelpers and protectors--and clean water.

  "Am I becoming reasonable or am I being tamed?

  "I'm simply discovering that life is many-sided and complex andpuzzling. I thought one had only to take it by the throat.

  "It hasn't GOT a throat!"

  Part 7

  One day the idea of self-sacrifice came into her head, and she made, shethought, some important moral discoveries.

  It came with an extreme effect of re-discovery, a remarkable novelty."What have I been all this time?" she asked herself, and answered, "Juststark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag ofreligion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!"

  It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone ofconduct. She perceived she had never really thought of any one butherself in all her acts and plans. Even Capes had been for her merely anexcitant to passionate love--a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoyimaginative wallowings. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free,untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost eitherfor herself or others.

  "I have hurt my father," she said; "I have hurt my aunt. I have hurt andsnubbed poor Teddy. I've made no one happy. I deserve pretty much whatI've got....

  "If only because of the way one hurts others if one kicks loose andfree, one has to submit....

  "Broken-in people! I suppose the world is just all egotistical childrenand broken-in people.

  "Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, AnnVeronica....

  "Compromise--and kindness.

  "Compromise and kindness.

  "Who are YOU that the world should lie down at your feet?

  "You've got to be a decent citizen, Ann Veronica. Take your half loafwith the others. You mustn't go clawing after a man that doesn't belongto you--that isn't even interested in you. That's one thing clear.

  "You've got to take the decent reasonable way. You've got to adjustyourself to the people God has set about you. Every one else does."

  She thought more and more along that line. There was no reason whyshe shouldn't be Capes' friend. He did like her, anyhow; he was alwayspleased to be with her. There was no reason why she shouldn't be hisrestrained and dignified friend. After all, that was life. Nothing wasgiven away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all thatit had to offer. Every one has to make a deal with the world.

  It would be very good to be Capes' friend.

  She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon thesame questions that he dealt with....

  Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson....

  It grew clear to her that throughout all her wild raid for independenceshe had done nothing for anybody, and many people had done things forher. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on thetable, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thoughtof the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy's admiration she thought, witha new-born charity, of her father, of Manning's conscientiousunselfishness, of Miss Miniver's devotion.

  "And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride!

  "I am the prodigal daughter. I will arise and go to my father, and willsay unto him--

  "I suppose pride and self-assertion are sin? Sinned against heaven--Yes,I have sinned against heaven and before thee....

  "Poor old daddy! I wonder if he'll spend much on the fatted calf?...

  "The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. I begin tounderstand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement andall the rest of it. One puts gloves on one's greedy fingers. One learnsto sit up...

  "And somehow or other," she added, after a long interval, "I must payMr. Ramage back his forty pounds."

  CHAPTER THE TWELFTH

  ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER

  Part 1

  Ann Veronica made a strenuous attempt to carry out her good resolutions.She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father beforeshe wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatchedit.

  "MY DEAR FATHER," she wrote,--"I have been thinking hard abouteverything since I was sent to this prison. All these experiences havetaught me a great deal about life and realities. I see that compromiseis more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and Ihave been trying to get Lord Morley's book on that subject, but it doesnot appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seemsto regard him as an undesirable writer."

  At this point she had perceived that she was drifting from her subject.

  "I must read him when I come out. But I see very clearly that as thingsare a daughter is necessarily dependent on her father and bound whileshe is in that position to live harmoniously with his ideals."

  "Bit starchy," said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. Herconcluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough.

  "Really, daddy, I am sorry for all I have done to put you out. May Icome home and try to be a better daughter to you?

  "ANN VERONICA."

  Part 2

  Her aunt came to meet her outside Canongate, and, being a littleconfused between what was official and what was merely a rebelliousslight upon our national justice, found herself involved in a triumphalprocession to the Vindicator Vegetarian Restaurant, and was specificallyand personally cheered by a small, shabby crowd outside that rendezvous.They decided quite audibly, "She's an Old Dear, anyhow. Voting wouldn'tdo no 'arm to 'er." She was on the very verge of a vegetarian mealbefore she recovered her head again. Obeying some fine instinct, she hadcome to the prison in a dark veil, but she had pushed this up to kissAnn Veronica and never drawn it down again. Eggs were procured for her,and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignitybecoming an injured lady of good family. The quiet encounter andhome-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirelydisorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations,and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica's lodgings, theyreached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, withheadaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett stillringing in their ears.

  "Dreadful women, my dear!" said Miss Stanley. "And some of them quitepretty and well dressed. No need to do such things. We must neverlet your father know we went. Why ever did you let me get into thatwagonette?"

  "I thought we had to," said Ann Veronica, who had also been a littleunder the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion. "It was verytiring."

  "We will have some t
ea in the drawing-room as soon as ever we can--and Iwill take my things off. I don't think I shall ever care for this bonnetagain. We'll have some buttered toast. Your poor cheeks are quite sunkenand hollow...."

  Part 3

  When Ann Veronica found herself in her father's study that evening itseemed to her for a moment as though all the events of the past sixmonths had been a dream. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit,greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biologicallaboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions,the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read andclosed. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the samelamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, stillthe same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pinktape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father.He sat in much the same attitude, and she stood just as she had stoodwhen he told her she could not go to the Fadden Dance. Both had droppedthe rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their facesan impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinatewilfulness in common a certain hardness--sharp, indeed, in the fatherand softly rounded in the daughter--but hardness nevertheless, that madeevery compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.

  "And so you have been thinking?" her father began, quoting her letterand looking over his slanting glasses at her. "Well, my girl, I wish youhad thought about all these things before these bothers began."

  Ann Veronica perceived that she must not forget to remain eminentlyreasonable.

  "One has to live and learn," she remarked, with a passable imitation ofher father's manner.

  "So long as you learn," said Mr. Stanley.

  Their conversation hung.

  "I suppose, daddy, you've no objection to my going on with my work atthe Imperial College?" she asked.

  "If it will keep you busy," he said, with a faintly ironical smile.

  "The fees are paid to the end of the session."

  He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formalstatement.

  "You may go on with that work," he said, "so long as you keep in harmonywith things at home. I'm convinced that much of Russell's investigationsare on wrong lines, unsound lines. Still--you must learn for yourself.You're of age--you're of age."

  "The work's almost essential for the B.Sc. exam."

  "It's scandalous, but I suppose it is."

  Their agreement so far seemed remarkable, and yet as a home-coming thething was a little lacking in warmth. But Ann Veronica had still to getto her chief topic. They were silent for a time. "It's a period of crudeviews and crude work," said Mr. Stanley. "Still, these Mendelian fellowsseem likely to give Mr. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. Some oftheir specimens--wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up."

  "Daddy," said Ann Veronica, "these affairs--being away from homehas--cost money."

  "I thought you would find that out."

  "As a matter of fact, I happen to have got a little into debt."

  "NEVER!"

  Her heart sank at the change in his expression.

  "Well, lodgings and things! And I paid my fees at the College."

  "Yes. But how could you get--Who gave you credit?

  "You see," said Ann Veronica, "my landlady kept on my room while Iwas in Holloway, and the fees for the College mounted up prettyconsiderably." She spoke rather quickly, because she found her father'squestion the most awkward she had ever had to answer in her life.

  "Molly and you settled about the rooms. She said you HAD some money."

  "I borrowed it," said Ann Veronica in a casual tone, with white despairin her heart.

  "But who could have lent you money?"

  "I pawned my pearl necklace. I got three pounds, and there's three on mywatch."

  "Six pounds. H'm. Got the tickets? Yes, but then--you said youborrowed?"

  "I did, too," said Ann Veronica.

  "Who from?"

  She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. The truthwas impossible, indecent. If she mentioned Ramage he might have afit--anything might happen. She lied. "The Widgetts," she said.

  "Tut, tut!" he said. "Really, Vee, you seem to have advertised ourrelations pretty generally!"

  "They--they knew, of course. Because of the Dance."

  "How much do you owe them?"

  She knew forty pounds was a quite impossible sum for their neighbors.She knew, too, she must not hesitate. "Eight pounds," she plunged, andadded foolishly, "fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything." Shemuttered some unlady-like comment upon herself under her breath andengaged in secret additions.

  Mr. Stanley determined to improve the occasion. He seemed to deliberate."Well," he said at last slowly, "I'll pay it. I'll pay it. But I dohope, Vee, I do hope--this is the end of these adventures. I hope youhave learned your lesson now and come to see--come to realize--howthings are. People, nobody, can do as they like in this world.Everywhere there are limitations."

  "I know," said Ann Veronica (fifteen pounds!). "I have learned that. Imean--I mean to do what I can." (Fifteen pounds. Fifteen from forty istwenty-five.)

  He hesitated. She could think of nothing more to say.

  "Well," she achieved at last. "Here goes for the new life!"

  "Here goes for the new life," he echoed and stood up. Father anddaughter regarded each other warily, each more than a little insecurewith the other. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled thecircumstances of their last conversation in that study. She saw hispurpose and his doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took hiscoat lapels, and kissed him on the cheek.

  "Ah, Vee," he said, "that's better! and kissed her back rather clumsily.

  "We're going to be sensible."

  She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave,preoccupied expression. (Fifteen pounds! And she wanted forty!)

  Part 4

  It was, perhaps, the natural consequence of a long and tiring andexciting day that Ann Veronica should pass a broken and distressfulnight, a night in which the noble and self-subduing resolutions ofCanongate displayed themselves for the first time in an atmosphere ofalmost lurid dismay. Her father's peculiar stiffness of soul presenteditself now as something altogether left out of the calculations uponwhich her plans were based, and, in particular, she had not anticipatedthe difficulty she would find in borrowing the forty pounds she neededfor Ramage. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits hadfailed her. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. She knew thatto expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. Thechance had gone. It became suddenly glaringly apparent to her that itwas impossible to return fifteen pounds or any sum less than twentypounds to Ramage--absolutely impossible. She realized that with a pangof disgust and horror.

  Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain tohim why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returnedit. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what hadhappened. Now if she sent fifteen pounds the suggestion that she hadspent a five-pound note in the meanwhile would be irresistible. No! Thatwas impossible. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until shecould make it twenty. That might happen on her birthday--in August.

  She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories,half dreams, of Ramage. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her,threatening her, assailing her.

  "Confound sex from first to last!" said Ann Veronica. "Why can't wepropagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, webadger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!... IMUST pay off that forty pounds. I MUST."

  For a time there seemed no comfort for her even in Capes. She was to seeCapes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, shefelt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her atall. And if he didn't, what was the good of seeing him?

  "I wish he was a woman," she said, "then I could make him my friend. Iwant him as
my friend. I want to talk to him and go about with him. Justgo about with him."

  She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that broughther to: "What's the good of pretending?

  "I love him," she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeatedit, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-likedevotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remainedentirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings.

  At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises,and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as onlythree-o'clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.

  Part 5

  Pursuant to some altogether private calculations she did not go up tothe Imperial College until after mid-day, and she found the laboratorydeserted, even as she desired. She went to the table under the endwindow at which she had been accustomed to work, and found it swept andgarnished with full bottles of re-agents. Everything was very neat; ithad evidently been straightened up and kept for her. She put down thesketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out herstool, and sat down. As she did so the preparation-room door openedbehind her. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round ina careless manner she pretended not to hear it. Then Capes' footstepsapproached. She turned with an effort.