American girl. When some years ago I paid my first and only visit
to America I seemed to recover my cousins' atmosphere as soon as I
entered the train at Euston. There were three girls in my
compartment supplied with huge decorated cases of sweets, and being
seen off by a company of friends, noisily arch and eager about the
"steamer letters" they would get at Liverpool; they were the very
soul-sisters of my cousins. The chief elements of a good time, as
my cousins judged it, as these countless thousands of rich young
women judge it, are a petty eventfulness, laughter, and to feel that
you are looking well and attracting attention. Shopping is one of
its leading joys. You buy things, clothes and trinkets for yourself
and presents for your friends. Presents always seemed to be flying
about in that circle; flowers and boxes of sweets were common
currency. My cousins were always getting and giving, my uncle
caressed them with parcels and cheques. They kissed him and he
exuded sovereigns as a stroked APHIS exudes honey. It was like the
new language of the Academy of Lagado to me, and I never learnt how
to express myself in it, for nature and training make me feel
encumbered to receive presents and embarrassed in giving them. But
then, like my father, I hate and distrust possessions.
Of the quality of their private imagination I never learnt anything;
I suppose it followed the lines of the fiction they read and was
romantic and sentimental. So far as marriage went, the married
state seemed at once very attractive and dreadfully serious to them,
composed in equal measure of becoming important and becoming old. I
don't know what they thought about children. I doubt if they
thought about them at all. It was very secret if they did.
As for the poor and dingy people all about them, my cousins were
always ready to take part in a Charitable Bazaar. They were unaware
of any economic correlation of their own prosperity and that
circumambient poverty, and they knew of Trade Unions simply as
disagreeable external things that upset my uncle's temper. They
knew of nothing wrong in social life at all except that there were
"Agitators." It surprised them a little, I think, that Agitators
were not more drastically put down. But they had a sort of
instinctive dread of social discussion as of something that might
breach the happiness of their ignorance…
5
My cousins did more than illustrate Marx for me; they also undertook
a stage of my emotional education. Their method in that as in
everything else was extremely simple, but it took my inexperience by
surprise.
It must have been on my third visit that Sybil took me in hand.
Hitherto I seemed to have seen her only in profile, but now she
became almost completely full face, manifestly regarded me with
those violet eyes of hers. She passed me things I needed at
breakfast-it was the first morning of my visit-before I asked for
them.
When young men are looked at by pretty cousins, they become
intensely aware of those cousins. It seemed to me that I had
always admired Sybil's eyes very greatly, and that there was
something in her temperament congenial to mine. It was odd I had
not noted it on my previous visits.
We walked round the garden somewhen that morning, and talked about
Cambridge. She asked quite a lot of questions about my work and my
ambitions. She said she had always felt sure I was clever.
The conversation languished a little, and we picked some flowers for
the house. Then she asked if I could run. I conceded her various
starts and we raced up and down the middle garden path. Then, a
little breathless, we went into the new twenty-five guinea summer-
house at the end of the herbaceous border.
We sat side by side, pleasantly hidden from the house, and she
became anxious about her hair, which was slightly and prettily
disarranged, and asked me to help her with the adjustment of a
hairpin. I had never in my life been so near the soft curly hair
and the dainty eyebrow and eyelid and warm soft cheek of a girl, and
I was stirred-
It stirs me now to recall it.
I became a battleground of impulses and inhibitions.
"Thank you," said my cousin, and moved a little away from me.
She began to talk about friendship, and lost her thread and forgot
the little electric stress between us in a rather meandering
analysis of her principal girl friends.
But afterwards she resumed her purpose.
I went to bed that night with one propostion overshadowing
everything else in my mind, namely, that kissing my cousin Sybil was
a difficult, but not impossible, achievement. I do not recall any
shadow of a doubt whether on the whole it was worth doing. The
thing had come into my existence, disturbing and interrupting its
flow exactly as a fever does. Sybil had infected me with herself.
The next day matters came to a crisis in the little upstairs
sitting-room which had been assigned me as a study during my visit.
I was working up there, or rather trying to work in spite of the
outrageous capering of some very primitive elements in my brain,
when she came up to me, under a transparent pretext of looking for a
book.
I turned round and then got up at the sight of her. I quite forget