Charles and Tibby met at Ducie Street, where the latter was
staying. Their interview was short and absurd. They had
nothing in common but the English language, and tried by its
help to express what neither of them understood. Charles
saw in Helen the family foe. He had singled her out as the
most dangerous of the Schlegels, and, angry as he was,
looked forward to telling his wife how right he had been.
His mind was made up at once: the girl must be got out of
the way before she disgraced them farther. If occasion
offered she might be married to a villain or, possibly, to a
fool. But this was a concession to morality, it formed no
part of his main scheme. Honest and hearty was Charles's
dislike, and the past spread itself out very clearly before
him; hatred is a skilful compositor. As if they were heads
in a note-book, he ran through all the incidents of the
Schlegels' campaign: the attempt to compromise his brother,
his mother's legacy, his father's marriage, the introduction
of the furniture, the unpacking of the same. He had not yet
heard of the request to sleep at Howards End; that was to be
their master-stroke and the opportunity for his. But he
already felt that Howards End was the objective, and, though
he disliked the house, was determined to defend it.
Tibby, on the other hand, had no opinions. He stood
above the conventions: his sister had a right to do what she
thought right. It is not difficult to stand above the
conventions when we leave no hostages among them; men can
always be more unconventional than women, and a bachelor of
independent means need encounter no difficulties at all.
Unlike Charles, Tibby had money enough; his ancestors had
earned it for him, and if he shocked the people in one set
of lodgings he had only to move into another. His was the
leisure without sympathy--an attitude as fatal as the
strenuous: a little cold culture may be raised on it, but no
art. His sisters had seen the family danger, and had never
forgotten to discount the gold islets that raised them from
the sea. Tibby gave all the praise to himself, and so
despised the struggling and the submerged.
Hence the absurdity of the interview; the gulf between
them was economic as well as spiritual. But several facts
passed: Charles pressed for them with an impertinence that
the undergraduate could not withstand. On what date had
Helen gone abroad? To whom? (Charles was anxious to fasten
the scandal on Germany.) Then, changing his tactics, he said
roughly: "I suppose you realize that you are your sister's
protector?"
"In what sense?"
"If a man played about with my sister, I'd send a bullet
through him, but perhaps you don't mind."
"I mind very much," protested Tibby.
"Who d'ye suspect, then? Speak out, man. One always
suspects someone."
"No one. I don't think so." Involuntarily he blushed.
He had remembered the scene in his Oxford rooms.
"You are hiding something," said Charles. As interviews
go, he got the best of this one. "When you saw her last,
did she mention anyone's name? Yes, or no!" he thundered,
so that Tibby started.
"In my rooms she mentioned some friends, called the Basts--"
"Who are the Basts?"
"People--friends of hers at Evie's wedding."
"I don't remember. But, by great Scott! I do. My aunt
told me about some tag-rag. Was she full of them when you
saw her? Is there a man? Did she speak of the man?
Or--look here--have you had any dealings with him?"
Tibby was silent. Without intending it, he had betrayed
his sister's confidence; he was not enough interested in
human life to see where things will lead to. He had a
strong regard for honesty, and his word, once given, had
always been kept up to now. He was deeply vexed, not only
for the harm he had done Helen, but for the flaw he had
discovered in his own equipment.
"I see--you are in his confidence. They met at your
rooms. Oh, what a family, what a family! God help the poor
pater--"
And Tibby found himself alone.
