When she had thus put it she felt so pleased with herself that it almost put her anxieties at rest. She had said to Humphrey that she wanted the impossible, to have her youth back. Yet in a sense these feelings were the very stuff of youth and their occurrence again, after so many years of quietness, seemed a sort of miracle. That she would, so inspired, be able, as she had put it to Humphrey, to 'bring Hugh up to it', she had little doubt, though she was cheerfully vague about what 'it' was towards which Hugh was so shortly to be elevated. For the present her own state of mental activity so much gratified her that she felt that if Hugh would only acquiesce she had love enough for both. All the same, she waited with increasing nervousness for his promised summons, and when it came; and when she stood at last outside his door, she found herself trembling like a young girl.
As she looked round Hugh's drawing-room, which she had not visited now for some time, she reflected how delicious it was to have him a bachelor once again. She had been used to come to these rooms to take tea with Fanny, sometimes glimpsing Hugh just as she was leaving. Now she was sitting behind closed doors with him and him alone, as the evening drew on, and hoping like a seventeen-year-old that perhaps he might invite her out to dinner. She laughed inwardly at these thoughts, with a laugh of exhilaration and triumph, and then guiltily, but only for a moment, remembered poor Fanny.
She felt delightfully at home in Hugh's drawing-room, and reflecting on this she felt how few places there now were where she did feel warmly and positively at home. Even her special boudoir at Seton Blaise, or the library at Cadogan Place; or Felix's rooms in Ebury Street, had not this quality of receiving her and soothing her spirit. She felt completely at ease. She felt as if, already, she a little bit owned the place. As she looked round at the familiar objects they looked at her with new obedient faces: the walnut writing-table, the oval card table with the alabaster vase, the pair of Kazak rugs, the green glass shell from Murano which Fanny would never allow to be used for flowers, the set of Wedgwood jugs, the dappled Chinese fawns. It was as if from each thing some veil had fallen and they glowed at her: now we are yours. She noted already certain changes she wanted to make. Some things must be moved: and those big ormolu vases must, she was almost certain, go.
Most of all the Tintoretto glowed upon her with a jewelled beneficence. It lighted the room now, like a small sun. It was not a very large picture: it represented a naked woman and was almost certainly an earlier version of the figure of Susannah in the great Susannah Bathing in Vienna. Only it was no sketch, but a great picture in its own right and justly of some fame: a notable segment in the vast seemingly endless honeycomb of the master's genius; and well might a spectator think of honey, looking upon that plump, bent, delicious, golden form, one leg gilding the green water into which it was plunged. A heavy twining complication of golden hair crowned a face of radiant spiritual vagueness which could only have been imagined by Tintoretto. Golden bracelets composed her apparel, and a pearl whose watery whiteness both reflected and resisted the soft surrounding honey-coloured shades. It was a picture which might well enslave a man, a picture round which crimes might be committed. Mildred regarded it now as it glowed in the darkening room and recalled with indignation that Fanny had wanted to sell it. Small, Fanny had feared it perhaps: Hugh's golden dream of another world.
'There was in Mildred's apprehension of the things about her nothing grossly predatory. They were like servants who run ahead of their master, symbols of a presence, almost sacraments. And still half amused at finding herself so elevated Mildred turned her gaze again to the worried preoccupied infinitely to-be-Iooked-after bald-headed Hugh. Slow old Hugh, she thought, and her heart dissolved in tenderness. Mine.
In answer to Mildred's question about Penn, Hugh replied vaguely, 'Oh, I don't know. I don't think Ann is worried about Humphrey seeing Penn. I imagine the boy just decided, when it came to it, that he wanted to stay in the country. He seems to be having quite a good time now. He poured out some more sherry. It was raining harder and the hiss of the water was confused with the sound of traffic in the Brompton Road.
Mildred looked at Hugh affectionately and patted her fluffy pepper coloured hair into place. Her mind reverted to Felix and his problem, a matter which had also considerably occupied her imagination. She had expressed to Felix a 'confidence' in Randall; but she had discovered nothing since to increase her hopes of Randall's positively 'going off'.
It was obvious that Hugh really knew nothing about what Ann thought about Humphrey; and equally doubtless he knew nothing of Randall's intentions. But it was worth trying, so Mildred said casually, 'Any news of Randall, by the way?
'No, said Hugh. He seemed unable to keep his mind on these topics and answered in a distracted manner. 'I haven't seen him.
'Do you think now he'll stay in London? said Mildred. 'I mean, he must have a girl friend here or something.
'A girlfriend? said Hugh. 'I've no idea. I don't know what he does. Mildred groaned to herself. Hugh was always the last person to hear the gossip which concerned him most. Yet she loved this in him, his inability to attract gossip. There was, in his obliviousness, in his litter failure to discover what was going on, a kind of positively beautiful stupidity.
The nervousness which Mildred had felt on the threshold was now quite gone. It was Hugh who seemed nervous, shy almost in a touching way and needing to be set at ease. She looked at his round wrinkled face, his round brown eyes and the bald globe above the thick tonsure of brown hair, and she wanted to take him in her Anns: such a simple and yet it had seemed all her life such an impossible wish. Just the pleasure of looking at him so unrestrainedly was considerable. One cannot, in ordinary society, so rapaciously scrutinize one's friends; she enjoyed the liberty she was taking. At the same time she observed the shabby state of the loose covers, decided that all the chairs needed re-covering, decided where this should be done and approximately how much it ought to cost.
'Never mind about Randall, she said. 'What about you? Felix probably isn't coming to India after all, so you absolutely must come. You will, won't you, Hugh?
Hugh looked uneasy and picked at the braiding of the armchair.
'I don't know whether I can, Mildred.
'What stops you?
He made a rather weary gesture, seeming a little to avoid her eye. 'Come! said Mildred. Has it lost its magic? You did want to come, although you wouldn't say so. You can't have changed your mind. Hugh was silent.
'Hugh dear, you're worrying about something, said Mildred. 'Is it those ridiculous children? They'll be all right, you know.
'Mildred, you're so sympathetic, said Hugh.
Mildred moved her chair nearer his. She wanted very much to embrace him now but feared to do it clumsily. Their two large chairs were in the way and she could hardly pull him to his feet. So she contented herself with dealing him a light blow on the hand such as might more elegantly be dealt by a folded fan. 'Now then, tell me all.