Henry Is Twenty: A Further Episodic History of Henry Calverly, 3rd

I think he was talking all the time – pouring out an incoherent, tremulous torrent of words. Once or twice she moved her hand as if to brush him away.

When she finally raised her head, he was taking the wrappings from a little box.

‘Well, Henry? Just what do you want? Where are we getting, with all this?’

‘I want you to let me see Cicely. Just one minute. Let her say. I can’t – I can’t– leave it like this!’

‘You promised – ’

‘That I wouldn’t try to see her. But I can come to you can’t I? That’s fair, isn’t it?’

Madame Watt sighed again.

Suddenly Henry leaped forward; caught himself; stepped back; cried out, in a passionately suppressed voice: —

‘There she is! Now!’

Cicely was crossing the hall toward the stairs. They could see her through the doorway.

She went up as far as the first landing, a few steps up; then, a hand on the railing, she hesitated and slowly turned her head.

‘Will you ask her to come!’ Henry moaned. ‘Ask her! Let her say! Don’t break our hearts like this!’

Madame raised her hand.

Cicely, slowly, pale and gentle of face, came across the wide hall and into the room. She stopped then, hands hanging at her sides, her head bent forward a little, glancing from one to the other.

She looked unexpectedly frail. Henry knew, as his eyes dwelt on her, that she, too, was suffering.

She seemed about to speak; but instead threw out her hands in a little questioning gesture and raised her mobile eyebrows. But she didn’t smile.

Henry glanced again at Madame. She was re-reading the Galbraith letter. He waited for her to look up.

Then, all at once, he knew that she meant not to look up. Youth is unerringly keen in its own interest. She was evading the issue. He had beaten her.

He dropped the little box on a chair; stepped forward, ring in hand. He saw Cicely gazing at it, fascinated.

Then his own voice came out – a shy, even polite, if breathless, little voice: —

‘I was just wondering, Cicely, if you’d let me give you this ring.’

She lifted very slowly her left hand; still gazing intently at the ring.

He held it out.

Then she said: —

‘No, Henry… I mean, hadn’t you better wish it on?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said he. ‘Funny! I didn’t think of that.’

Madame Watt turned a page, rustling the paper.

‘Wait, Henry! Don’t let go! Have you wished?’

‘Unhuh! Have you?’

‘Yes. I wished the first thing.’

‘Well – ’ Henry had to stop. He found himself swallowing rather violently. ‘Well – I s’pose I’d better step down to the office. I might come back this afternoon, if – if you’d like me to.’

‘Henry,’ said Madame now, ‘don’t be silly! Come to lunch!’