“Certainly you may.”
“When is it likely to be?”
“Not to-day.”
Maddening expression!
Sabre, in his room, went towards his chair. He
was about to drop into it when he recollected something.
He went out into the corridor and along the corridor,
past Mr. Fortune’s door (Canon Toomuch coming
heavily up the stairs) to Twyning’s room.
He put in his head. “Oh, I say, Twyning,
if Fortune should ever ask you if you told me about
that business, you can tell him you didn’t.”
“Oh—oh, right-o,” said Twyning;
and to himself when the door closed, “Funked
speaking to him!”
Arrived again in his room, Sabre dropped into his
chair. In his eyes was the look that had been
in them when he had tried to explain to Mr. Fortune
about the books, what Mr. Fortune had confessed he
found a little beyond him. He thought: “The
books.... Of course Fortune hasn’t imagined
them ... seen them grow helped them to grow....
But it hurts. Like hell it hurts.... And
I can’t explain to him how I feel about them....
I can’t explain to any one.”
His thoughts moved on: “I’ve been
twelve years with him. Twelve years we’ve
been daily together, and when I said that about the
books I sat there and he sat there—and
just looked. Stared at each other like masks.
Masks! Nothing but a mask to be seen for either
of us. I sit behind my mask and he sits behind
his and that’s all we see. Twelve mortal
years! And there’re thousands of people
in thousands of offices ... thousands of homes ...
just the same. All behind masks. Mysterious
business. Extraordinary. How do we keep behind?
Why do we keep behind? We’re all going
through the same life. Come the same way.
Go the same way. You look at insects, ants, scurrying
about, and not two of them seem to have a thing in
common, not two of them seem to know one another;
and you think it’s odd, you think it’s
because they don’t know they’re all in
the same boat. But we’re just the same.
They might think it of us. And we do know.
And yet you get two lives and put them together twelve
years in an office ... in a house.... Mabel and
I ... practically we just sit and look at each other.
Her mask. My mask....”
He thought: “One knows what it is, what
it looks like, with ants. They’re all plugging
about like mad like that, not knowing one another,
nor caring, because they all seem to be looking for
something. I wonder.... I wonder—are
we? Is that the trouble? All looking for
something.... You can see it in half the faces
you see. Some wanting, and knowing they are wanting
something. Others wanting something but just
putting up with it, just content to be discontented.
You can see it. Yes, you can. Looking for
what? Love? But lots have love. Happiness?
But aren’t lots happy? But are they?”
He knitted his brows: “It goes deeper than
that. It’s some universal thing that’s
wanting. Is it something that religion ought to
give, but doesn’t? Light? Some new
light to give every one certainty in religion, in
belief. Light?”
