But the summer "holidays"brought a marked difference;they were holidays for almost every one but the animals in the cage.The August days were flat and dry,and,with so little to feed it,she was conscious of the ebb of her interest in the secrets of the refined.She was in a position to follow the refined to the extent of knowing--they had made so many of their arrangements with her aid--exactly where they were;yet she felt quite as if the panorama had ceased unrolling and the band stopped playing.A stray member of the latter occasionally turned up,but the communications that passed before her bore now largely on rooms at hotels,prices of furnished houses,hours of trains,dates of sailings and arrangements for being "met";she found them for the most part prosaic and coarse.The only thing was that they brought into her stuffy corner as straight a whiff of Alpine meadows and Scotch moors as she might hope ever to inhale;there were moreover in especial fat hot dull ladies who had out with her,to exasperation,the terms for seaside lodgings,which struck her as huge,and the matter of the number of beds required,which was not less portentous:this in reference to places of which the names--Eastbourne,Folkestone,Cromer,Scarborough,Whitby--tormented her with something of the sound of the plash of water that haunts the traveller in the desert.She had not been out of London for a dozen years,and the only thing to give a taste to the present dead weeks was the spice of a chronic resentment.The sparse customers,the people she did see,were the people who were "just off"--off on the decks of fluttered yachts,off to the uttermost point of rocky headlands where the very breeze was then playing for the want of which she said to herself that she sickened.
There was accordingly a sense in which,at such a period,the great differences of the human condition could press upon her more than ever;a circumstance drawing fresh force in truth from the very fact of the chance that at last,for a change,did squarely meet her--the chance to be "off,"for a bit,almost as far as anybody.
They took their turns in the cage as they took them both in the shop and at Chalk Farm;she had known these two months that time was to be allowed in September--no less than eleven days--for her personal private holiday.Much of her recent intercourse with Mr.
Mudge had consisted of the hopes and fears,expressed mainly by himself,involved in the question of their getting the same dates--a question that,in proportion as the delight seemed assured,spread into a sea of speculation over the choice of where and how.
All through July,on the Sunday evenings and at such other odd times as he could seize,he had flooded their talk with wild waves of calculation.It was practically settled that,with her mother,somewhere "on the south coast"(a phrase of which she liked the sound)they should put in their allowance together;but she already felt the prospect quite weary and worn with the way he went round and round on it.It had become his sole topic,the theme alike of his most solemn prudences and most placid jests,to which every opening led for return and revision and in which every little flower of a foretaste was pulled up as soon as planted.He had announced at the earliest day--characterising the whole business,from that moment,as their "plans,"under which name he handled it as a Syndicate handles a Chinese or other Loan--he had promptly declared that the question must be thoroughly studied,and he produced,on the whole subject,from day to day,an amount of information that excited her wonder and even,not a little,as she frankly let him know,her disdain.When she thought of the danger in which another pair of lovers rapturously lived she enquired of him anew why he could leave nothing to chance.Then she got for answer that this profundity was just his pride,and he pitted Ramsgate against Bournemouth and even Boulogne against Jersey--for he had great ideas--with all the mastery of detail that was some day,professionally,to carry him afar.
