Chapters 10-12 | Rebecca | Bedtime Story

Relax and unwind as you continue listening to Chapters 10-12 of Rebecca, a 1938 Gothic novel written by English author Daphne du Maurier. Widely considered a classic, it is a psychological thriller about a young woman who becomes obsessed with her husband’s first wife.

Transcript

Chapter 10 We watched the car disappear round the sweep of the drive, And then Maxim took my arm and said, Thank God that's that. Get a coat quickly and come out. Damn the rain. I want to walk. I can't stand this sitting about. He looked white and strained, And I wondered why the entertaining of Patrice and Giles, His own sister and brother-in-law, Should have tired him so. Wait while I run upstairs for my coat, I said. There's a heap of Macintoshes in the flower room. Get one of them, He said impatiently. Women are always half an hour when they go to their bedrooms. Robert, Fetch a coat from the flower room, Will you, For Mrs. DeWinter? There must be half a dozen raincoats hanging there, Left by people at one time or another. He was already standing in the drive and calling to Jasper. Come on, You lazy little beggar, And take some of that fat off. Jasper ran round in circles, Barking hysterically at the prospect of his walk. Shut up, You idiot, Said Maxim. What on earth is Robert doing? Robert came running out of the hall, Carrying a raincoat, And I struggled into it hurriedly, Fumbling with the collar. It was too big, Of course, And too long, But there was no time to change it, And we set off together, Across the lawn to the woods, Jasper running in front. I find a little of my family goes a very long way, Said Maxim. Patrice is one of the best people in the world, But she invariably puts her foot in it. I was not sure where Patrice had blundered, And thought it better not to ask. Perhaps he still resented the chat about his health before lunch. What did you think of her? He went on. I liked her very much, I said. She was very nice to me. What did she talk to you about out here, After lunch? Oh, I don't know. I think I did most of the talking. I was telling her about Mrs. Van Hopper, And how you and I met, And all that. She said I was quite different from what she expected. What the devil did she expect? Someone much smarter, More sophisticated, I imagine. A social butterfly, She said. Maxim did not answer for a moment. He bent down and threw a stick for Jasper. Patrice can sometimes be infernally unintelligent, He said. We climbed the grass bank above the lawns and plunged into the woods. The trees grew very close together, And it was dark. We trod upon broken twigs and last year's leaves, And here and there the fresh green stubble of the young bracken, And the shoots of the bluebells soon to blossom. Jasper was silent now, His nose to the ground. I took Maxim's arm. Do you like my hair? I said. He stared down at me in astonishment. Your hair? He said. Why on earth do you ask? Of course I like it. What's the matter with it? Oh, Nothing, I said. I just wondered. How funny you are, He said. We came to a clearing in the woods, And there were two paths going in opposite directions. Jasper took the right-hand path without hesitation. Not that way, Called Maxim. Come on, Old chap. The dog looked back at us and stood there, Wagging his tail, But did not return. Why does he want to go that way? I asked. I suppose he's used to it, Said Maxim briefly. It leads to a small cove, Where we used to keep a boat. Come on, Jasper, Old man. We turned into the left-hand path, Not saying anything, And presently I looked over my shoulder and saw that Jasper was following us. This brings us to the valley I told you about, Said Maxim. And you shall smell the azaleas. Never mind the rain, It will bring out the scent. He seemed all right again now, Happy and cheerful, The Maxim I knew and loved. And he began talking about Frank Crawley, And what a good fellow he was. So thorough and reliable, And devoted to Manderley. This is better, I thought. This is like it was in Italy. And I smiled up at him, Squeezing his arm, Relieved that the odd strained look on his face had passed away. And while I said, Yes, And really, And fancy, Darling. My thoughts wandered back to Patrice, Wondering why her presence should have disturbed him, What she had done. And I thought too, Of all she had said about his temper, How he lost it, She told me, About once or twice a year. She must know him, Of course, She was his sister. But it was not what I had thought, It was not my idea of Maxim. I could see him moody, Difficult, Irritable perhaps, But not angry, As she had inferred, Not passionate. Perhaps she had exaggerated. People very often were wrong about their relatives. There, Said Maxim suddenly, Take a look at that. We stood on a slope of a wooded hill, And the path wound away before us to a valley by the side of a running stream. There were no dark trees here, No tangled undergrowth. But on either side of the narrow path stood azaleas and rhododendrons, Not blood-colored like the giants in the drive, But salmon, White and gold, Things of beauty and of grace, Drooping their lovely delicate heads in the soft summer rain. The air was full of their scent, Sweet and heady, And it seemed to me as though their very essence had mingled with the running waters of the stream, And become one with the falling rain and the dank rich moss beneath our feet. There was no sound here but the tumbling of the little stream and the quiet rain. When Maxim spoke, His voice was hushed too, Gentle and low. As if he had no wish to break upon the silence. We call it the Happy Valley, He said. We stood quite still, Not speaking, Looking down upon the clear white faces of the flowers closest to us, And Maxim stooped and picked up a fallen petal and gave it to me. It was crushed and bruised and turning brown at the curled edge. But as I rubbed it across my hand, The scent rose to me, Sweet and strong, Vivid as a living tree from which it came. Then the birds began. First, A blackbird, His note clear and cool above the running stream, And after a moment, He had answer from his fellow hidden in the woods behind us. And soon, The still air about us was made turbulent with song, Pursuing us as we wandered down into the valley, And the fragrance of the white petals followed us too. It was disturbing, Like an enchanted place. I had not thought it could be as beautiful as this. The sky, Now overcast and sullen, So changed from the early afternoon, And the steady, Insistent rain could not disturb the soft quietude of the valley. The rain and the rivulet mingled with one another, And the liquid note of the blackbird fell upon the damp air in harmony with them both. I brushed the dripping heads of azaleas as I passed. So close they grew together, Bordering the path. Little drops of water fell onto my hands from the soaked petals. There were petals at my feet too, Brown and sodden, Bearing their scent upon them still, And a richer, Older scent as well. The smell of deep moss and bitter earth, The stems of bracken, And the twisted buried roots of trees. I held Maxim's hand, And I had not spoken. The spell of the happy valley was upon me. This, At last, Was the core of Manderley. The Manderley I would know and learn to love. The first drive was forgotten. The black, Herded woods. The glaring rhododendrons, Luscious and overproud. And the vast house too. The silence of that echoing hall. The uneasy stillness of the west wing, Wrapped in dust sheets. There, I was an interloper, Wandering in rooms that did not know me, Sitting at a desk and in a chair that were not mine. Here it was different. The happy valley knew no trespassers. We came to the end of the path, And the flowers formed an archway above our heads. We bent down, Passing underneath, And when I stood straight again, Brushing the raindrops from my hair, I saw that the valley was behind us, And the azaleas and the trees, And, As Maxim had described to me that afternoon, Many weeks ago in Monte Carlo, We were standing in a little narrow cove, The shingle hard and white under our feet, And the sea was breaking on the shore beyond us. Maxim smiled down at me, Watching the bewilderment on my face. It's a shock, Isn't it? He said. No one ever expects it. The contrast is too sudden, It almost hurts. He picked up a stone and flung it across the beach for Jasper. Fetch it, Good man! And Jasper streaked away in search of the stone, His long black ears flapping in the wind. The enchantment was no more, The spell was broken. We were mortal again, Two people playing on a beach. We threw more stones, Went to the water's edge, Flung ducks and drakes, And fished for driftwood. The tide had turned, And came lapping in the bay. The small rocks were covered, The seaweed washed on the stones. We rescued a big floating plank and carried it up the beach above high water mark. Maxim turned to me, Laughing, Wiping the hair out of his eyes, And I unrolled the sleeves of my Macintosh caught by the sea spray. And then we looked round and saw that Jasper had disappeared. We called and whistled, And he did not come. I looked anxiously towards the mouth of the cove, Where the waves were breaking upon the rocks. No, Said Maxim, We should have seen him, He can't have fallen. Jasper, You idiot, Where are you? Jasper, Jasper! Perhaps he's gone back to the Happy Valley, I said. He was by that rock a minute ago, Sniffing a dead seagull, Said Maxim. We walked up the beach, Towards the valley once again. Jasper, Jasper! Called Maxim. In the distance, Beyond the rocks to the right of the beach, I heard a short, Sharp bark. Hear that? I said. He's climbed over this way. I began to scramble up the slippery rocks, In the direction of the bark. Come back, Said Maxim, Sharply. We don't want to go that way. The fool of a dog must look after himself. I hesitated, Looked down from my rock. Perhaps he's fallen, I said. Poor little chap, Let me fetch him. Jasper barked again, Further away this time. Oh, Listen, I said. I must get him. It's quite safe, Isn't it? The tide won't have cut him off? He's all right, Said Maxim, Irritably. Why not leave him? He knows his own way back. I pretended not to hear, And began scrambling over the rocks, Towards Jasper. Great, Jagged boulders screened the view, And I slipped and stumbled on the wet rocks, Making my way, As best as I could, In Jasper's direction. It was heartless of Maxim to leave Jasper, I thought, And I could not understand it. Besides, The tide was coming in. I came up beside the big boulder that had hidden the view, And looked beyond it, And I saw, To my surprise, That I was looking down into another cove, Similar to the one I had left, But wider and more rounded. A small stone breakwater had been thrown out across the cove for shelter, And behind it, The bay formed a tiny natural harbor. There was a buoy anchored there, But no boat. The beach in the cove was white shingle, Like the one behind me, But steeper, Shelving suddenly to the sea. The woods came right down, To the tangle of seaweed, Marking high water, Encroaching almost to the rocks themselves, And at the fringe of the woods was a long low building, Half cottage, Half boathouse, Built of the same stone as the breakwater. There was a man on the beach, A fisherman, Perhaps, In long boots, And a souwester, And Jasper was barking at him, Running round him in circles, Darting at his boots. The man took no notice. He was bending down and scraping in the shingle. Jasper! I shouted. Jasper, Come here! The dog looked up, Wagging his tail, But he did not obey me. He went on baiting the solitary figure on the beach. I looked over my shoulder. There was still no sign of Maxim. I climbed down over the rocks to the beach below. My feet made a crunching noise across the shingle, And the man looked up at the sound. I saw then that he had the small slit eyes of an idiot, And the red wet mouth. He smiled at me, Showing toothless gums. G'day, He said. Dirty, Ain't it? Good afternoon, I said. No, I'm afraid it's not very nice weather. He watched me with interest, Smiling all the while. Diggin' for shell, He said. No shell here. Been diggin' since forenoon. Oh, I said. I'm sorry you can't find any. That's right, He said. No shell here. Come on, Jasper, I said. It's getting late. Come on, Old boy. But Jasper was in an infuriating mood. Perhaps the wind and the sea had gone to his head, For he backed away from me, Barking stupidly, And began racing around the beach after nothing at all. I saw he would never follow me, And I had no lead. I turned to the man, Who had bent down again to his futile digging. Have you got any string? I said. Eh? He said. Have you got any string? I repeated. No shell here, He said, Shaking his head. Been diggin' since forenoon. He nodded his head at me and wiped his pale blue watery eyes. I want something to tie the dog, I said. He won't follow me. Eh? He said, And smiled his poor idiot smile. All right, I said. It doesn't matter. He looked at me uncertainly, And then leant forward and poked me in the chest. I know that dog, He said. He comes from the house. Yes, I said. I want him to come back with me now. He's not yorned, He said. He's Mr. De Winter's dog, I said gently. I want to take him back to the house. Eh? He said. I called Jasper once more, But he was chasing a feather blown by the wind. I wondered if there was any string in the boathouse, And I walked up the beach towards it. There must have been a garden once, But now the grass was long and overgrown, Crowded with nettles. The windows were boarded up. No doubt the door was locked, And I lifted the latch without much hope. To my surprise, It opened after the first stiffness, And I went inside, Bending my head because of the low door. I expected to find the usual boat store, Dirty and dusty with disuse, Ropes and blocks and oars upon the floor. The dust was there, And the dirt too in places, But there were no ropes or blocks. The room was furnished, And ran the whole length of the cottage. There was a desk in the corner, A table and chairs, And a bed sofa pushed against the wall. There was a dresser too, With cups and plates, Bookshelves, The books inside them, And models of ships standing on the top of the shelves. For a moment, I thought it must be inhabited. Perhaps the poor man on the beach lived here. But I looked around me again, And saw no sign of recent occupation. That rusted grate knew no fire, This dusty floor no footsteps, And the china there on the dresser was blue-spotted with a damp. There was a queer, Musty smell about the place. Cobwebs spun threads upon the ship's models, Making their own ghostly rigging. No one lived here. No one came here. The door had creaked on its hinges when I opened it. The rain pattered on the roof with a hollow sound, And tapped upon the boarded windows. The fabric of the sofa bed had been nibbled by mice or rats. I could see the jagged holes and the frayed edges. It was damp in the cottage, Damp and chill, Dark and oppressive. I did not like it. I had no wish to stay there. I hated the hollow sound of the rain pattering on the roof. It seemed to echo in the room itself, And I heard the water dripping to and to the rusted grate. I looked about me for some string. There was nothing that would serve my purpose, Nothing at all. There was another door at the end of the room, And I went to it and opened it, A little fearful now, A little afraid, For I had the odd, Uneasy feeling that I might come upon something unawares, That I had no wish to see, Something that might harm me, That might be horrible. It was nonsense, Of course, And I opened the door. It was only a boat store, After all. Here were the ropes and blocks I had expected, Two or three sails, Fenders, A small punt, Pots of paints, All the litter and junk that goes with the using of boats, A ball of twine lay on a shelf, A rusted, Clasped knife beside it. This would be all I needed for Jasper. I opened the knife and cut a length of twine and came back into the room again. The rain still fell upon the roof and into the grate. I came out of the cottage hurriedly, Not looking behind me, Trying not to see the torn sofa and the mildew china, The spun cobwebs on the model ships, And so through the creaking gate and onto the white beach. The man was not digging anymore. He was watching me, Jasper at his side. Come along, Jasper, I said. Come on, Good dog. I bent down, And this time he allowed me to touch him and pull hold of his collar. I found some string in the cottage, I said to the man. He did not answer, And I tied the string loosely round Jasper's collar. Good afternoon, I said, Tugging at Jasper. The man nodded, Staring at me with his narrow idiot's eyes. I saw you go in yonder, He said. Yes, I said. It's all right. Mr. De Winter won't mind. She don't go in there now, He said. No, I said. Not now. She's gone in the sea, Ain't she, He said. She won't come back no more? No, I said. She'll not come back. I never said nothing, Did I? He said. No, Of course not. Don't worry, I said. He bent down again to his digging, Muttering to himself. I went across the shingle, And I saw Maxim waiting for me by the rocks, His hands in his pockets. I'm sorry, I said. Jasper would not come. I had to get some string. He turned abruptly on his heel and made towards the woods. Aren't we going back over the rocks? I said. What's the point? We're here now, He said briefly. We went up past the cottage and struck into a path through the woods. I'm sorry I was such a time. It was Jasper's fault, I said. He kept barking at the man. Who was he? Only Ben, Said Maxim. He's quite harmless, Poor devil. His old father used to be one of the keepers. They live near the home farm. Where did you get that piece of twine? I found it in the cottage on the beach, I said. Was the door open? He asked. Yes, I pushed it open. I found the string in the other room, Where the cells were, In a small boat. Oh, He said shortly. Oh, I see. And then he added, After a moment or two, That cottage is supposed to be locked. The door has no business to be open. I said nothing. It was not my affair. Did Ben tell you the door was open? No, I said. He did not seem to understand anything I asked him. He makes out he's worse than he is, Said Maxim. He can talk quite intelligibly, If he wants to. He's probably been in and out of the cottage dozens of times, And did not want you to know. I don't think so, I answered. The place looked deserted, Quite untouched. There was dust everywhere, And no footmarks. It was terribly damp. I'm afraid those books will be quite spoiled, And the chairs and that sofa. There are rats there, Too. They have eaten away some of the covers. Maxim did not reply. He walked at a tremendous pace, And the climb up from the beach was steep. It was very different from the Happy Valley. The trees were dark here, And close together, There were no azaleas brushing the path. The rain dripped heavily from the thick branches. It splashed on my collar, And trickled down my neck. I shivered. It was unpleasant, Like a cold finger. My legs ached after the unaccustomed scramble over the rocks, And Jasper lagged behind, Weary from his wild scamper, His tongue hanging from his mouth. Come on, Jasper, For God's sake, Said Maxim. Make him walk up. Pull out that twine or something, Can't you? Patrice was right. The dog is much too fat. It's your fault, I said. You walk so fast. We can't keep up with you. If you had listened to me instead of rushing wildly over those rocks, We would have been home by now, Said Maxim. Jasper knew his way back perfectly. I can't think what you wanted to go after him for. I thought he might have fallen, And I was afraid of the tide, I said. Is it likely I should have left the dog, Had there been any question of the tide? Said Maxim. I told you not to go on those rocks, And now you are grumbling because you are tired. I'm not grumbling, I said. Anyone, Even if they had legs of iron, Would be tired walking at this pace. I thought you would come with me when I went after Jasper anyway, Instead of staying behind. Why should I exhaust myself careering after the damn dog, He said. It was no more exhausting careering after Jasper on the rocks than it was careering after the driftwood on the beach, I answered. You just say that because you have not any other excuse. My good child, What am I supposed to excuse myself about? Oh, I don't know, I said wearily. Let's stop this. Not at all, You begin it. What do you mean by saying I was trying to find an excuse? Excuse for what? Excuse for not having come with me, Over the rocks, I suppose, I said. Well, And why do you think I did not want to cross to the other beach? Oh, Maxim, How should I know? I'm not a thought reader. I know you did not want to, That's all. I could see it in your face. See what in my face? I've already told you. I could see you did not want to go. Oh, Do let's have an end to it. I'm sick to death of this subject. All women say that when they've lost an argument. All right, I did not want to go to the other beach. Will that please you? I never go near the bloody place, Or that goddamned cottage. And if you had my memories, You would not want to go there either, Or talk about it, Or even think about it. There. You can digest that if you like, And I hope it satisfies you. His face was white, And his eyes strained and wretched. With that dark, Lost look they had had when I first met him. I put up my hand to him. I took hold of his, Holding it tight. Please, Maxim, Please, I said. What's the matter? He said roughly. I don't want you to look like that, I said. It hurts too much. Please, Maxim, Let's forget all we said. A futile, Silly argument. I'm sorry, Darling, I'm sorry. Please let everything be all right. We ought to have stayed in Italy, He said. We ought never to come back to Manderley. Oh god, What a fool I was to come back. He brushed through the trees, Impatiently, Striding even faster than before, And I had to run to keep pace with him, Catching at my breath. Tears very near the surface, Dragging poor Jasper after me on the end of his string. At last we came to the top of the path, And I saw its fellow branching left to the happy valley. We had climbed the path, Then, That Jasper had wished to take at the beginning of the afternoon. I knew now why Jasper had turned to it. It led to the beach he knew best, And the cottage. It was his old routine. We came out onto the lawns and went across them to the house without a word. Maxim's face was hard, With no expression. He went straight into the hall and onto the library without looking at me. Frith was in the hall. We want tea at once, Said Maxim, And he shut the library door. I fought to keep back my tears. Frith must not see them. He would think we had been quarreling, And he would go to the servants' hall and say to them all, Mrs. De Winter was crying in the hall just now. It looks as though things are not going very well. I turned away, So that Frith should not see my face. He came towards me, Though. He began to help me off with my Macintosh. I'll put your raincoat away for you in the flower room, Madam, He said. Thank you, Frith, I replied, My face still away from him. Not a very pleasant afternoon for a walk, I fear, Madam. No, I said, No is not very nice. Your handkerchief, Madam, He said, Picking up something that had fallen on the floor. Thank you, I said, Putting it in my pocket. I was wondering whether to go upstairs, Or whether to follow Maxim to the library. Frith took the coat to the flower room. I stood there, Hesitating, Biting my nails. Frith came back again. He looked surprised to see me still there. There is a good fire in the library now, Madam. Thank you, Frith, I said. I walked slowly across the hall to the library. I opened the door and went in. Maxim was sitting in his chair, Jasper at his feet, The old dog in her basket. Maxim was not reading the paper, Though it lay on the arm of the chair beside him. I went and knelt down by his side and put my face close to his. Don't be angry with me anymore, I whispered. He took my face in his hands and looked down at me with his tired, Strained eyes. I'm not angry with you, He said. Yes, I said. I've made you unhappy. It's the same thing as making you angry. You're all wounded and hurt and torn inside. I can't bear to see you like this. I love you so much. Do you? He held me very tight, And his eyes questioned me, Dark and uncertain, The eyes of a child in pain, A child in fear. What is it, Darling? I said. Why do you look like that? I heard the door open before he could answer, And I sank back on my heels, Pretending to reach for a log to throw on the fire, While Frith came into the room, Followed by Robert, And the ritual of our tea began. The performance of the day before was repeated, The placing of the table, The laying of the snow-white cloth, The putting down of cakes and crumpets, The silver kettle of hot water placed on its little flame, While Jasper, Wagging his tail, His ears stretched back in anticipation, Watched my face. Five minutes must have passed before we were alone again, And when I looked at Maxim, I saw the color had come back into his face. The tired, Lost look was gone, And he was reaching for a sandwich. Having all that crowd to lunch was the trouble, He said. Poor old Patrice, Always does rub me the wrong way. We used to scrap like dogs as children. I'm so fond of her too, Bless her. Such a relief, Though, That they don't live too near. Which reminds me, We'll have to go over and see Granny sometime. Pour out my tea, Sweetheart, And forgive me for being a bear to you. It was over then. The episode was finished. We must not speak of it again. He smiled at me over his cup of tea, And then reached for the newspaper on the arm of his chair. The smile was my reward, Like a pat on the head to Jasper. Good dog, Then. Lie down. Don't worry me anymore. I was Jasper again. I was back where I had been before. I took a piece of crumpet and divided it between the two dogs. I did not want it myself. I was not hungry. I felt very weary now. Very tired in a dull, Spent way. I looked at Maxim, But he was reading his paper. He had folded it over to another page. My fingers were messy with the butter from the crumpet, And I felt in my pocket for a handkerchief. I drew it out, A tiny scrap of a thing. I stared at it, Frowning, For it was not mine. I remembered then that Frith had picked it up from the stone floor of the hall. It must have fallen out of the pocket in the Macintosh. I turned it over in my hand. It was grubby. Little bits of fluff from the pocket clung to it. It must have been in the Macintosh pocket for a long time. There was a monogram in the corner, A tall, Sloping R, With the letters D-E-W interlaced. The R dwarfed the other letters. The tail of it ran down into the cane brick, Away from the laced edge. It was only a small handkerchief, Quite a scrap of a thing. It had been rolled in a ball and put away in the pocket and forgotten. I must have been the first person to put on that Macintosh since a handkerchief was used. She, Who had worn the coat then, Was tall, Slim, Broader than me about the shoulders. For I had found it big and overlong, And the sleeves had come below my wrist. Some of the buttons were missing. She had not bothered then to do it up. She had thrown it over her shoulders like a cape or worn it loose, Hanging open, Her hands deep in the pockets. There was a pink mark upon the handkerchief, The mark of lipstick. She had rubbed her lips with the handkerchief and then rolled it in a ball and left it in the pocket. I wiped my fingers with the handkerchief, And as I did so, I noticed that a dull scent clung about it still, A scent I recognized, A scent I knew. I shut my eyes and tried to remember. It was something elusive, Something faint and fragrant that I could not name. I had breathed it before, Touched it surely that very afternoon, And then I knew that the vanished scent upon the handkerchief was the same as the crushed white petals of the azaleas in the Happy Valley. Chapter 11 The weather was wet and cold for quite a week, As it often can be in the West Country. In the early summer, And we did not go down to the beach again, I could see the sea from the terrace and the lawns. It looked gray and uninviting, Great rollers sweeping into the bay past the beacon on the headland. I pictured them surging into the little cove and breaking with a roar upon the rocks, Then running swift and strong to the shelving beach. If I stood on the terrace and listened, I could hear the murmur of the sea below me, Low and sullen, A dull persistent sound that never ceased. And the gulls flew inland too, Driven by the weather. They hovered above the house in circles, Wheeling and crying, Flapping their spread wings. I began to understand why some people could not bear the clamor of the sea. It has a mournful harping note sometimes, And the very persistence of it, That eternal roll in thunder and hiss, Plays a jagged tune upon the nerves. I was glad our rooms were in the east wing, And I could lean out of my window and look down upon the rose garden. For sometimes I could not sleep, And getting softly out of bed in the quiet night, I would wander to the window and lean there, My arms upon the seal, And the air would be very peaceful, Very still. I could not hear the restless sea, And because I could not hear it, My thoughts would be peaceful too. They would not carry me down that steep path, Through the woods, To the gray cove in the deserted cottage. I did not want to think about the cottage. I remembered it too often in the day. The memory of it nagged at me whenever I saw the sea from the terrace. For I would see once more the blue spots on the china, The spun webs on the little masts of those model ships, And the rat holes on the sofa bed. I would remember the pattering of the rain on the roof, And I thought of Ben too, With his narrow, Watery blue eyes, His sly, Idiot smile. These things disturbed me. I was not happy about them. I wanted to forget them, But at the same time, I wanted to know why they disturbed me, Why they made me uneasy and unhappy. Somewhere, At the back of my mind, There was a frightened, Furtive seed of curiosity that grew slowly and steathily for all my denial of it, And I knew all the doubt and anxiety of the child who has been told, These things are not disgust, They are forbidden. I could not forget the white, Lost look in Maxim's eyes when we came up the path through the woods, And I could not forget his words. Oh God, What a fool I was to come back. It was all my fault, Because I had gone down into the bay. I had opened up a road into the past again, And although Maxim had recovered and was himself again, And we lived our lives together, Sleeping, Eating, Walking, Writing letters, Driving to the village, Working hour by hour through our day, I knew there was a barrier between us because of it. He walked alone, On the other side, And I must not come to him, And I became nervous and fearful that some heedless word, Some turn in a careless conversation, Should bring that expression back to his eyes again. I began to dread any mention of the sea, For the sea might lead to boats, To accidents, To drowning. Even Frank Crawley, Who came to lunch one day, Put me in a little fever of fear when he said something about the sailing races in Carroth Harbour, Three miles away. I looked steadily at my plate, A stab of sickness in my heart at once, But Maxim went on talking quite naturally. He did not seem to mind, While I sat in a sweat of uncertainty, Wondering what would happen and where the conversation would lead us. It was during cheese. Frith had left the room, And I remember getting up and going to the sideboard and taking some more cheese, Not wanting it, So as not to be at the table with them, Listening, Humming a little tune to myself so I could not hear. I was wrong, Of course, Morbid, Stupid. This was the hypersensitive behavior of a neurotic, Not the normal happy self I knew myself to be, But I could not help it, I did not know what to do. My shyness and gaucherie became worse too, Making me stolid and dumb when people came to the house, For we were called upon, I remember, During those first weeks, By people who lived nearest in the county, And the receiving of them, And the shaking hands, And the spinning out of the formal half-hour became a worse ordeal than I first anticipated, Because of this new fear of mine that they would talk about something that must not be discussed, The agony of those wheels on the drive, Of my own first wild rush for flight to my own room, The scrambled dab of powder on my nose, The hasty comb through my hair, And then the inevitable knock on the door and the entrance of the cards on a silver salver, All right, I'll be down immediately, The clap of my heels on the stairs, And across the hall, The opening of the library door, Or, Worse still, That long, Cold, Lifeless drawing room, And the strange woman waiting there, Or two of them perhaps, Or a husband and a wife, How do you do? I'm sorry, Maxim is in the garden somewhere, Frith has gone to find him, A little laughter, A little flurry of chat, A pause, A glance around the room, And in my shyness, An anxiety to please, Those schoolgirls' phrases would escape from me again, Those words I never used except in moments like these, Oh ripping, And oh topping, And absolutely, And priceless, Even, I think, To Wendowager, Who had carried a lorgnette, Cheerio, My relief at Maxim's arrival would be tempered by the fear they might say something indiscreet, And I became dumb at once, A set smile on my lips, My hands in my lap, They would turn to Maxim then, Talking of people and places I had not met, Or did not know, And now and again, I would find their eyes upon me, Doubtful, Rather bewildered, I could picture them saying to one another as they drove away, What a dull girl, She scarcely opened her mouth, And then a sentence I had first heard upon Patrice's lips, Haunting me ever since, A sentence I read in every eye, On every tongue, She's so different from Rebecca, Sometimes I would glean little snatches of information to add to my secret store, A word dropped here at random, A question, A passing phrase, And, If Maxim was not with me, The hearing of them would be furtive, Rather painful pleasure, Guilty knowledge learnt in the dark, I would return a call perhaps, For Maxim was punctilious in these matters, And would not spare me, And if he did come with me, I must brave the formality alone, And there would be a pause in the conversation, While I searched for something to say, Will you be entertaining much at Manderley, Mrs. De Winter, They would say, And my answer would come, I don't know, Maxim has not said much about it up to the present, No, Of course not, It's early yet, I believe the house was generally full of people in the old days, Another pause, People from London, You know, There used to be tremendous parties, Yes, I would say, Yes, So I have heard, A further pause, And then a lowered voice that is always used about the dead, Or in a place of worship, She was so tremendously popular, You know, Such a personality, Yes, I would say, Yes, Of course, And after a moment or so, I would glance at my watch, Under cover of my glove, And say, I'm afraid I ought to be going, It must be after four, Won't you stay for tea, We always have it at quarter past, No, No, Really, Thanks most awfully, I promised Maxim, My sentence would go trailing off into nothing, But the meaning would be understood, We would both rise to our feet, Both of us knowing I was not deceived about her offer to tea, Nor she in my mention of a promise to Maxim, I had sometimes wondered what would happen if convention were denied, If, Having gone into the car, And waved a hand to my hostess on the doorstep, I suddenly opened it again and said, I don't think I'll go back after all, Let's go to your drawing room again and sit down, I'll stay to dinner if you like, Or stop the night, I used to wonder if convention and good county manners would brave the surprise, And whether a smile of welcome would be summoned to the frozen face, I used to wish I had the courage to try, But instead the door would slam, The car would go bowling away down the smooth gravel drive, And my late hostess would wander back to her room with a sigh of relief and become herself again, It was the wife of the bishop in the neighboring cathedral town who said to me, Will your husband revive the mandolin fancy dress ball, Do you suppose, Such a lovely sight always, I shall never forget it, I had to smile as though I knew all about it and say, We have not decided, There have been so many things to do and to discuss, Yes I suppose so, But I do hope it won't be dropped, You must use your influence with him, There was not one last year of course, But I remember two years ago the bishop and I went, And it was quite enchanting, Manderley so lends itself to anything like that, The hall looked wonderful, They danced there, And had music in the gallery, It was all so in keeping, A tremendous thing to organize, But everybody appreciated it so, Yes I said, Yes I must ask Maxim about it, I thought of the docketed pigeonhole in the desk in the morning room, I pictured the stack upon stack of invitation cards, The long list of names, The addresses, And I could see a woman sitting there at the desk and putting a V beside the names she wanted, And reaching for the invitation cards, Dipping her pen in the ink, Writing upon them swift and sure in that long slanting hand, There was a garden party too, We went to one summer, Said the bishop's wife, Everything always so beautifully done, The flowers at their best, A glorious day, I remember, Tea was served at little tables in the rose garden, Such an attractive original idea, Of course she was so clever, She stopped, Turning a little pink, Fearing a loss of tact, But I agreed with her at once, To save embarrassment, And I heard myself saying boldly, Brazenly, Rebecca must have been a wonderful person, I could not believe that I had said the name at last, I waited, Wondering what would happen, I had said the name, I had said the word Rebecca aloud, It was a tremendous relief, It was as though I had taken a purge and rid myself of an intolerable pain, Rebecca, I had said it aloud, I wondered if the bishop's wife saw the flush on my face, But she went on smoothly with the conversation, And I listened to her greedily like an eavesdropper at a shuttered window, You never met her then, She asked, And when I shook my head, She hesitated a moment, A little uncertain of her ground, We never knew her well personally, You know, The bishop was only inducted here four years ago, But of course she received us, When we went to the ball and the garden party, We dined there too, One winter, Yes, She was a very lovely creature, So full of life, She seems to have been so good at everything too, I said, My voice just careless enough to show I did not mind, While I played with the fringe of my glove, It's not often you get someone who is clever and beautiful and fond of sport, No, I suppose you don't, Said the bishop's wife, She was certainly very gifted, I can see her now, Standing at the foot of the stairs on the night of the ball, Shaking hands with everybody, That cloud of dark hair against the very white skin, And her costume suited her so, Yes, She was very beautiful, She ran the house herself too, I said smiling, As if to say, I am quite at ease, I often discuss her, Oh, Well, We can't all do everything, And you are very young, Aren't you, No doubt in time, When you have settled down, Besides, You have your own hobby, Haven't you, Someone told me you were fond of sketching, Oh, That, I said, I don't know that I can count it for much, It's a nice little talent to have, It's not everyone that can sketch, You must not drop it, Manderley must be full of pretty spots to sketch, Yes, I said, Yes, I suppose so, Depressed by her words, Having a sudden vision of myself, Wandering across the lawns, With a camp stool, And a box of pencils under one arm, And my little talent, As she described it, Under the other, It sounded like a pet disease, Do you play any games, Do you ride or shoot, She asked, No, I said, I don't do anything like that, I'm fond of walking, I added, As a wretched anticlimax, The best exercise in the world, The bishop and I walk a lot, I wondered if he went round and round the cathedral, In his shovel hat and his gaiters, With her on his arm, She began to talk about a walking holiday they had taken once, Years ago, In the Pennines, And how they had done an average of twenty miles a day, And I nodded my head, Smiling politely, Wondering about the Pennines, Thinking they were something like the Andes, Remembering, Afterwards, They were that chain of hills marked with a furry line in the middle of a pink England on my school atlas, And he, All the time, In his hat and gaiters, The inevitable pause, The glance at the watch, Unnecessary, As her drawing-room clock chimed four in shrill tones, And my rise from the chair, I'm so glad I found you in, I hope you will come and see us, We should love to, The bishop is always so busy, Please remember me to your husband, And be sure to ask him to revive the ball, Yes, Indeed I will, Lying, Pretending I knew all about it, And in the car going home, I sat in my corner, Biting my thumbnail, Seeing the great hall at Manderley, Thronged with people in fancy dress, The chatter, Hum, And laughter of the moving crowd, The musicians in the gallery, Supper in the drawing-room probably, Long buffet tables against the wall, And I could see Maxim, Standing at the front of the stairs, Laughing, Shaking hands, Turning to someone who stood by his side, Tall and slim, With dark hair, Said the bishop's wife, Dark hair against a white face, Someone whose quick eyes saw to the comfort of her guests, Who gave an order over her shoulder to a servant, Someone who was never awkward, Never without grace, Who when she danced, Left a stab of perfume in the air, Like a white azalea, Will you be entertaining much at Manderley, Mrs. De Winter, I heard the voice again, Suggestive, Rather inquisitive, And the voice of that woman, I had called upon, Who lived on the other side of Kerith, And I saw her eye too, Dubious, Considering, Taking in my clothes from top to toe, Wondering, With that swift downward glance, Given to all brides, If I was going to have a baby, I did not want to see her again, I did not want to see any of them again, They only came to call it Manderley, Because they were curious and prying, They liked to criticize my looks, My manners, My figure, They liked to watch how Maxim and I behaved to each other, Whether we seemed fond of one another, So that they could go back afterwards, And discuss us, Saying, Very different from the old days, They came because they wanted to compare me to Rebecca, I would not return these calls anymore, I decided, I should tell Maxim so, I did not mind if they thought me rude and ungracious, It would give them more to criticize, More to discuss, They could say I was ill-bred, I'm not surprised, They would say, After all, Who was she, And then a laugh, And a shrug of the shoulder, My dear, Don't you know, He picked her up in Monte Carlo or somewhere, She hadn't a penny, She was a companion to some old woman, More laughter, More lifting of the eyebrows, Nonsense, Not really, How extraordinary men are, Maxim of all people, Who was so fastidious, How could he, After Rebecca, I did not mind, I did not care, They could say what they liked, As the car turned in at the lodge gates, I leaned forward in my seat to smile at the woman who lived there, She was bending down, Picking flowers in the front garden, She straightened up as she heard the car, But she did not see me smile, I waved, And she stared at me blankly, I don't think she knew who I was, I leaned back in my seat again, The car went on down the drive, When we turned at one of the narrow bends, I saw a man walking along the drive, A little distance ahead, It was the agent, Frank Crawley, He stopped when he heard the car, And the chauffeur slowed down, Frank Crawley took off his hat, And smiled when he saw me in the car, He seemed glad to see me, I smiled back at him, It was nice of him to be glad to see me, I liked Frank Crawley, I did not find him dull, Or uninteresting, As Patrice had done, Perhaps it was because I was dull myself, We were both dull, We neither of us had a word to say for ourselves, Like to like, I tapped on the glass, And told the chauffeur to stop, I think I'll get out, And walk with Mr. Crawley, I said, He opened the door for me, Been paying calls Mrs. Dewinter, He said, Yes Frank, I said, I called him Frank, Because Maxim did, But he would always call me Mrs. Dewinter, He was that sort of person, Even if we had been thrown on a desert island together, And lived there in intimacy for the rest of our lives, I should have been Mrs. Dewinter, I've been calling on the Bishop, I said, And I found the Bishop out, But the Bishop's lady was at home, She and the Bishop are very fond of walking, Sometimes they do twenty miles a day, In the Pennines, I don't know that part of the world, Said Frank Crawley, They say the country round is very fine, An uncle of mine used to live there, It was a sort of remark, Frank Crawley always made, Safe, Conventional, Very correct, The Bishop's wife wants to know when we are going to give a fancy dress ball at Manderley, I said, Watching him out of the tail of my eye, She came to the last one, She said, And enjoyed it very much, I did not know you have fancy dress dances here, Frank, He hesitated a moment before replying, He looked a little troubled, Oh yes, He said, After a moment, The Manderley ball was generally an annual affair, Everyone in the county came, A lot of people from London too, Quite a big show, It must have taken a lot of organization, I said, Yes, He said, I suppose, I said carelessly, Rebecca did most of it, I looked straight ahead of me along the drive, But I could see his face was turned towards me, As though he wished to read my expression, We all of us worked pretty hard, He said quietly, There was a funny reserve in his manner as he said this, A certain shyness that reminded me of my own, I wondered suddenly if he had been in love with Rebecca, His voice was the sort of voice I should have used in his circumstances, Had this been so, The idea opened up a new field of possibilities, Frank Crawley being so shy, So dull, He would never have told anyone, Least of all Rebecca, I'm afraid I should not be much use if we have a dance, I said, I'm no earthly use at organizing anything, There would be no need for you to do anything, He said, You would just be yourself and look decorative, That's very polite of you Frank, I said, But I'm afraid I should not be able to do that very well either, I think you would do it excellently, He said, Dear Frank Crawley, How tactful he was and considerate, I almost believed him, But he did not deceive me really, Will you ask Maxim about the ball, I said, Why don't you ask him, He answered, No, I said, No, I don't like to, We were silent then, We went on walking along the drive, Now that I had broken down my reluctance at saying Rebecca's name, First with the bishop's wife and now with Frank Crawley, The urge to continue was strong within me, It gave me a curious satisfaction, It acted upon me like a stimulant, I knew that in a moment or two I should have to say it again, I was down on one of the beaches the other day, I said, The one with the breakwater, Jasper was being infuriating, He kept barking at the poor man with the idiot's eyes, You must mean Ben, Said Frank, His voice quite easy now, He always potters about on the shore, He's quite a nice fellow, You need never be frightened of him, He would not hurt a fly, Oh, I wasn't frightened, I said, I waited a moment, Humming a tune to give me confidence, I'm afraid that cottage place is going to rack and ruin, I said lightly, I had to go in to find a piece of string or something to tie up Jasper, The china is moldy and the books are being ruined, Why isn't something done about it, It seems such a pity, I knew he would not answer at once, He bent down to tie up his shoelace, I pretended to examine a leaf on one of the shrubs, I think if Maxim wanted anything done, He would tell me, He said, Still fumbling with his shoe, Are they all Rebecca's things, I asked, Yes, He said, I threw the leaf away and picked another, Turning it over in my hands, What did she use the cottage for, I asked, It looked quite furnished, I thought from the outside it was just a boathouse, It was a boathouse originally, He said, His voice constrained again, Difficult, The voice of someone who is uncomfortable about his subject, Then, Then she converted it like that, Had furniture put in, And china, I thought it funny the way he called her she, He did not say Rebecca or Mrs. De Winter as I expected him to do, Did she use it a great deal, I asked, Yes, He said, Yes she did, Moonlight picnics and, And one thing and another, We were walking again, Side by side, I still humming my little tune, How jolly, I said brightly, Moonlight picnics must be great fun, Did you ever go to them, Once or twice, He said, I pretended not to notice his manner, How quiet it had become, How reluctant to speak about these things, Why is the buoy there in the little harbor place, I said, The boat used to be moored there, He said, What boat, I asked, Her boat, He said, A strange sort of excitement was upon me, I had to go on with my questions, He did not want to talk about it, I knew that, But although I was sorry for him, And shocked at my own self, I had to continue, I could not be silent, What happened to it, I said, Was that the boat she was sailing when she was drowned, Yes, He said quietly, It capsized and sank, She was washed overboard, What sort of size boat was it, I asked, About three tons, It had a little cabin, What made it capsize, I said, It can be very squally in the bay, He said, I thought of that green sea, Foam flecked, That ran down channel beyond the headland, Did the wind come suddenly, I wondered, In a funnel from the beacon on the hill, And did the little boat heel to it, Shivering, The white sail flat against a breaking sea, Could not someone have got out to her, I said, Nobody saw the accident, Nobody knew she had gone, He said, I was very careful not to look at him, He might have seen the surprise in my face, I had always thought it happened in a sailing race, That other boats were there, The boats from Kareth, And that people were watching from the cliffs, I did not know she had been alone, Quite alone out there in the bay, They must have known up at the house, I said, No, He said, She often went out alone like that, She would come back any time of the night, And sleep at the cottage on the beach, Was she not nervous, Nervous, He said, No, She was not nervous of anything, Did, Did Maxim mind her going off alone like that, He waited a minute, And then, I don't know, He said shortly, I had the impression he was being loyal to someone, Either to Maxim, Or to Rebecca, Or perhaps even to himself, He was odd, I did not know what to make of it, She must have been drowned then, Trying to swim to shore, After the boat sank, I said, Yes, He said, I knew how the little boat would quiver and plunge, The water gushing into the steering well, And how the sails would press her down, Suddenly, Horribly, And that gust of wind, It must have been very dark out there in the bay, The shore must have seemed very far away, To anyone swimming there in the water, How long afterwards was it that they found her, I said, About two months, He said, Two months, I thought drowned people were found after two days, I thought they would be washed up close to the shore when the tide came, Where did they find her, I asked, Near Edgecombe, About forty miles up channel, He said, I had spent a holiday at Edgecombe once, When I was seven, It was a big place, With a pier, And donkeys, I remembered riding a donkey along the sands, How did they know it was her, After two months, How could they tell, I said, I wondered why he paused before each sentence, As though he weighed his words, Had he cared for her then, Had he minded so much, Maxim went up to Edgecombe to identify her, He said, Suddenly, I did not want to ask him anymore, I felt sick at myself, Sick and disgusted, I was like a curious sightseer, Standing on the fringe of a crowd, After someone had been knocked down, I was like a poor person, In a tenement building, When someone had died, Asking if I might see the body, I hated myself, My questions had been degrading, Shameful, Frank Crawley must despise me, It was a terrible time for all of you, I said rapidly, I don't suppose you like being reminded about it, I just wondered if there was anything one could do to the cottage, That's all, It seemed such a pity, All the furniture being spoiled by the damp, He did not say anything, I felt hot and uncomfortable, He must have sensed that it was not concern for the empty cottage, That had prompted me to all these questions, And now he was silent, Because he was shocked at me, Ours had been a comfortable, Steady sort of friendship, I had felt him an ally, Perhaps I had destroyed all this, And he would never feel the same about me again, What a long drive this is, I said, It always reminds me of the path in the forest, In a Grimm's fairy tale, Where the prince gets lost, You know, It's always longer than one expects, And the trees are so dark and close, Yes, It is rather exceptional, He said, I could tell, By his manner, That he was still on his guard, As though waiting for a further question from me, There was an awkwardness between us, That could not be ignored, Something had to be done about it, Even if it covered me with shame, Frank, I said desperately, I know what you are thinking, You can't understand why I asked all those questions just now, You think I'm morbid and curious, In a rather beastly way, It's not that, I promise you, It's only that, That sometimes, I feel myself at such a disadvantage, It's all very strange to me, Living here at Manderley, Not the sort of life I've been brought up to, When I go returning these calls, As I did this afternoon, I know people are looking me up and down, Wondering what sort of success I'm going to make of it, I can imagine them saying, What on earth does Maxim see in her, And then Frank, I begin to wonder myself, And I begin to doubt, And I have a fearful haunting feeling, That I should never have married Maxim, That we are not going to be happy, You see, I know that all the time, Whenever I meet anyone new, They are all thinking the same thing, How different she is to Rebecca, I stopped, Breathless, Already a little ashamed of my outburst, Feeling that now, At any rate, I had burnt my boats for all time, He turned to me, Looking very concerned and troubled, Mrs. De Winter, Please don't think like that, He said, For my part, I can't tell you how delighted I am, That you have married Maxim, It will make all the difference to his life, I am positive that you will make a great success of it, From my point of view, It's, It's very refreshing and charming, To find someone like yourself, Who is not entirely, He blushed, Searching for a word, Not entirely au fait, Shall we say, With ways at Manderly, And if people around here give you the impression that they are criticizing you, It's, Well, It's most damnably offensive of them, That's all, I've never heard a word of criticism, And if I did, I should take great care that it was never uttered again, That's very sweet of you, Frank, I said, And what you say helps enormously, I dare say I've been very stupid, I'm not good at meeting people, I've never had to do it, And all the time I keep remembering how, How it must have been at Manderly before, When there was someone there, Who was born and bred to it, Did it all naturally and without effort, And I realize every day, That things I lack, Confidence, Grace, Beauty, Intelligence, Wit, Oh, All the qualities that mean most in a woman, She possessed, It doesn't help, Frank, It doesn't help, He said nothing, He went on looking anxious and distressed, He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose, You must not say that, He said, Why not, It's true, I said, You have qualities that are just as important, Far more so in fact, It's perhaps cheek of me to say so, I don't know you very well, I'm a bachelor, I don't know very much about women, I lead a quiet sort of life down here at Manderly, As you know, But I should say that kindness, And sincerity, And, If I may say so, Modesty, Are worth far more to a man, To a husband, Than all the wit and beauty in the world, He looked very agitated and blew his nose again, I saw that I had upset him far more than I had upset myself, And the realization of this calmed me and gave me a feeling of superiority, I wondered why he was making such a fuss, After all, I had not said very much, I had only confessed my sense of insecurity, Following as I did upon Rebecca, And she must have had all these qualities that he presented to me as mine, She must have been kind and sincere with all her friends, Her boundless popularity, I was not sure what he meant by modesty, It was a word I had never understood, I always imagined it had something to do with minding meeting people in a passage on the way to the bathroom, Poor Frank, And Patrice had called him a dull man, With never a word to say for himself, Well, I said, Rather embarrassed, Well I don't know about all that, I don't think I'm very kind, Or particularly sincere, And as for being modest, I don't think I've ever had much of a chance to be anything else, It was not very modest of course, Being married hurriedly like that, Down in Monte Carlo, And being alone there in that hotel beforehand, But perhaps you don't count that, My dear Mrs. De Winter, You don't think I imagined for one moment that your meeting down there was not entirely above board, He said in a low voice, No of course not, I said gravely, Dear Frank, I think I had shocked him, What a Frankish expression too, Above board, It made one think immediately of the sort of things that would happen below board, I'm sure, He began, And hesitated, His expression still troubled, I'm sure that Maxim would be very worried, Very distressed, If he knew how you felt, I don't think he could have any idea of it, You won't tell him, I said hastily, No, Naturally not, What do you take me for, But you see, Mrs. De Winter, I know Maxim pretty well, And I've seen him through many moods, If he thought you were worrying about, Well, About the past, It would distress him more than anything on earth, I can promise you that, He's looking very well, Very fit, But Mrs. Lacey was quite right the other day, When she said he had been on the verge of a breakdown last year, Though it was tactless of her to say so in front of him, That's why you are so good for him, You are fresh, And young, And, And sensible, You have nothing to do with all that time that has gone, Forget it, Mrs. De Winter, Forget it, As he has done, Thank heaven, And the rest of us, We none of us want to bring back the past, Maxim least of all, And it's up to you, You know, To lead us away from it, Not to take us back there again, He was right, Of course, He was right, Dear good Frank, My friend, My ally, I had been selfish, And hypersensitive, A martyr, To my own inferiority complex, I had to have told you all this before, I said, I wish you had, He said, I might have spared you some worry, I feel happier, I said, Much happier, And I've got you for my friend, Whatever happens, Haven't I, Frank, Yes, Indeed, He said, We were out of the dark wooded drive, And into the light again, The rhododendrons were upon us, Their hour would soon be over, Already they looked a little overblown, A little faded, Next month the petals would fall, One by one, From the great faces, And the gardeners would come, Sweep them away, Theirs was a brief beauty, Not lasting very long, Frank, I said, Before we put an end to this conversation, Forever let's say, Will you promise to answer me one thing, Quite truthfully, He paused, Looking at me a little suspiciously, That's not quite fair, He said, You might ask me something, That I should not be able to answer, Something quite impossible, No, I said, It's not that sort of question, It's not intimate or personal or anything like that, Very well, I'll do my best, He said, We came round the sweep of the drive, And Manderley was before us, Serene and peaceful, In the hollow of the lawns, Surprising me as it always did, With its perfect symmetry and grace, Its great simplicity, The sunlight flickered on the mullioned windows, And there was a soft rusted glow, About the stone walls, Where the lichen clung, A thin column of smoke curled from the library chimney, I bit my thumbnail, Watching Frank out of the tail of my eye, Tell me, I said, My voice casual, Not caring a bit, Tell me, Was Rebecca very beautiful, Frank waited a moment, I could not see his face, He was looking away from me, Towards the house, Yes, He said slowly, Yes, I suppose she was the most beautiful creature I ever saw in my life, We went up the steps then to the hall, And I rang the bell for tea. Chapter 12 I did not see much of Mrs. Danvers, She kept very much to herself, She still rang the house telephone, To the morning room, Every day, And submitted the menu to me as a matter of form, But that was the limit of our intercourse, She had engaged a maid for me, Clarice, The daughter of somebody on the estate, A nice, Quiet, Well-mannered girl, Who, Thank heaven, Had never been in service before, And had no alarming standards, I think she was the only person in the house who stood in awe of me, To her, I was the mistress, I was Mrs. DeWinter, The possible gossip of the others could not affect her, She had been away for some time, Brought up by an aunt 15 miles away, And in a sense, She was as new to Manderley as I was, I felt at ease with her, I did not mind saying, Oh, Clarice, Would you mend my stocking? The housemaid Alice had been so superior, I used to sneak my chemise and nightgowns out of my drawer, And mend them myself, Rather than ask her to do them, I had seen her once, With one of my chemises over her arm, Examining the plain material, With its small edging of lace, I shall never forget her expression, She looked almost shocked, As though her own personal pride had received a blow, I had never thought about my underclothes before, As long as they were clean and neat, I had not thought the material, Or the existence of lace mattered, Brides one read about, Had trousseau, Dozens of sets at a time, And I had never bothered, Alice's face taught me a lesson, I wrote quickly to a shop in London, And asked for a catalogue of underlinen, By the time I had made my choice, Alice was looking after me no longer, And Clarisse was installed instead, It seemed such a waste, Buying new underclothes, For Clarisse, That I put the catalogue away, And never wrote to the shop after all, I often wondered, Whether Alice told the others, And if my underclothes became a topic of conversation in the servants hall, Something rather dreadful, To be discussed in low tones, When the men were nowhere about, She was too superior, For it to be made a joking question, Phrases like, Chemise to you, Would never be bandied, Between her and Frith, For instance, No, My underclothes were more serious than that, More like a divorce case heard in camera, At any rate, I was glad, When Alice surrendered me to Clarisse, Clarisse would never know real lace from false, It was considerate of Mrs. Danvers, To have engaged her, She must have thought we would be fit company, One for the other, Now that I knew the reason, For Mrs. Danvers dislike, And resentment, It made things a little easier, I knew it was not just me personally she hated, But what I represented, She would have the same towards anyone who had taken Rebecca's place, At least that was what I understood from Patrice the day she came to lunch, Did you not know, She had said, She simply adored Rebecca, The words had shocked me at the time, Somehow I had not expected them, But when I thought it over, I began to lose my first fear of Mrs. Danvers, I began to feel sorry for her, I could imagine what she must feel, It must hurt her every time she heard me called Mrs. DeWinter, Every morning when she took up the house telephone and spoke to me, And I answered, Yes Mrs. Danvers, She must be thinking of another voice, When she passed through the rooms and saw traces of me about the place, A beret on a window seat, A bag of knitting on a chair, She must think of another one, Who had done these things before me, Even as I did, I, Who had never known Rebecca, Mrs. Danvers knew how she walked and how she spoke, Mrs. Danvers knew the color of her eyes, Her smile, The texture of her hair, I knew none of these things, I had never asked about them, But sometimes I felt Rebecca was as real to me as she was to Mrs. Danvers, Frank had told me to forget the past and I wanted to forget it, But Frank did not have to sit in the morning room as I did, Every day, And touch the pin she had held between her fingers, He did not have to rest his hands on the blotter and stare in front of him at her writing on the pigeonholes, He did not have to look at the candlesticks on the mantelpiece, The clock, The vase in which the flower stood, The pictures on the walls, And remember, Every day, That they belonged to her, She had chosen them, They were not mine at all, Frank did not have to sit at her place in the dining room, Hold the knife and fork that she had held, Drink from her glass, He did not throw a coat over his shoulders, Which had been hers, Nor find her handkerchief in the pocket, He did not notice, Every day, As I did, The blind gaze of the old dog in its basket in the library, Who lifted its head when it heard my footstep, The footstep of a woman, And sniffing the air, Drooped its head again, Because I was not the one she sought, Little things, Meaningless and stupid in themselves, But they were there for me to see, For me to hear, For me to feel, Dear God, I did not want to think about Rebecca, I wanted to be happy, To make Maxim happy, And I wanted us to be together, There was no other wish in my heart but that, I could not help it if she came to me in thoughts, In dreams, I could not help it if I felt like a guest in Manderley, My home, Walking where she had trodden, Resting where she had lain, I was like a guest, Biding my time, Waiting for the return of the hostess, Little sentences, Little reproofs, Reminding me, Every hour, Every day, Frith, I said, Coming into the library, On a summer morning, My arms, Full of lilac, Frith, Where can I find a tall vase for these, They are all too small in the flower room, The white alabaster vase in the drawing room was always used for the lilac, Madam, Oh, Wouldn't it be spoiled, It might get broken, Mrs. De Winter always used the alabaster vase, Madam, Oh, Oh, I see, Then the alabaster vase was brought for me, Already filled with water, And as I put the sweet lilac in the vase, And arranged the sprigs, One by one, The mauve warm scent filling the room, Mingling with the smell of the new mown lawn outside, Coming from the open window, I thought, Rebecca did this, She took the lilac, As I am doing, And put the sprigs, One by one, In the white vase, I am not the first to do it, This is Rebecca's vase, This is Rebecca's lilac, She must have wandered out into the garden, As I did, In that floppy garden hat, That I had seen once, At the back of the cupboard, In the flower room, Hidden under some old cushions, And crossed the lawn to the lilac bushes, Whistling perhaps, Humming a tune, Calling to the dogs to follow her, Carrying in her hands the scissors that I carried now, Frith, Could you move that bookstand from the table in the window, And I will put the lilac there, Mrs. De Winter always had the alabaster vase on the table behind the sofa, Madam, Oh well, I hesitated, The vase in my hands, Frith's face impassive, He would obey me of course, If I said I preferred to put the vase on the smaller table by the window, He would move the bookstand at once, All right, I said, Perhaps it would look better on the larger table, And the alabaster vase stood, As it had always done, On the table behind the sofa, Patrice remembered her promise of a wedding present, A large parcel arrived one morning, Almost too large for Robert to carry, I was sitting in the morning room, Having just read the menu for the day, I have always had a childish love of parcels, I snipped the string excitedly, And tore off the dark brown paper, It looked like books, I was right, It was books, Four big volumes, A history of painting, And a sheet of notepaper, In the first volume saying, I hope this is the sort of thing you like, And signed, Love from Patrice, I could see her going into the shop, In Wigmore Street, And buying them, Looking about her in her abrupt, Rather masculine way, I want a set of books for someone who is keen on art, She would say, And the attendant would answer, Yes, Madam, Will you come this way, She would finger the volumes a little suspiciously, Yes, That's about the price, It's for a wedding present, I want them to look good, Are these all about art, Yes, This is a standard work on the subject, The assistant would say, And then Patrice must have written her note, And paid her check, And given the address, Mrs. De Winter, Manderley, It was nice of Patrice, There was something rather sincere, And pathetic, About her going off to a shop in London, And buying me these books, Because she knew I was fond of painting, She imagined me, I expect, Sitting down on a wet day, And looking solemnly at the illustrations, And perhaps getting a sheet of drawing paper, And a paint box, And copying one of the pictures, Dear Patrice, I had a sudden, Stupid desire to cry, I gathered up the heavy volumes, And looked round the morning room, For somewhere to put them, They were out of place in that fragile, Delicate room, Never mind, It was my room now, After all, I arranged them in a row, On the top of the desk, They swayed dangerously, Leaning one against the other, I stood back a bit, To watch the effect, Perhaps I moved too quickly, And it disturbed them, At any rate, The foremost one fell, And the others slid after him, They upset a little china cupid, Who had hitherto stood alone on the desk, Except for the candlesticks, He fell to the ground, Hitting the waste paper basket as he did so, And broke into fragments, I glanced hurriedly at the door, Like a guilty child, I knelt on the floor, And swept up the pieces into my hand, I found an envelope to put them in, I hid the envelope at the back of one of the drawers in the desk, Then I took the books off to the library, And found room for them on the shelves, Maxim laughed when I showed them to him with pride, Dear old B, He said, You must have had success with her, She never opens a book if she can help it, Did she say anything about, Well, What she thought of me, I asked, The day she came to lunch, No, I don't think so, I thought she might have written or something, Patrice and I don't correspond, Unless there's a major event in the family, Writing letters is a waste of time, Said Maxim, I supposed I was not a major event, Yet if I had been Patrice, And had a brother, And the brother married, Surely one would have said something, Expressed an opinion, Written two words, Unless of course, One had taken a dislike to the wife, Or thought her unsuitable, Then of course, It would be different, Still, Patrice had taken the trouble to go up to London, And to buy the books for me, She would not have done that if she disliked me, It was the following day I remember, When Frith, Who had brought in the coffee after lunch to the library, Waited a moment, Hovering behind Maxim, And said, Could I speak to you sir, Maxim glanced up from his paper, Yes Frith, What is it, He said, Rather surprised, Frith wore a stiff, Solemn expression, His lips pursed, I thought at once his wife had died, It's about Robert sir, There has been a slight unpleasantness between him and Mrs. Danvers, Robert is very upset, Oh Lord, Said Maxim, Making a face at me, I bent down to fondle Jasper, My unfailing habit in moments of embarrassment, Yes sir, It appears Mrs. Danvers has accused Robert of secreting a valuable ornament from the morning room, It is Robert's business to bring in the fresh flowers to the morning room, And place the vases, Mrs. Danvers went in this morning, After the flowers had been done, And noticed one of the ornaments was missing, It was there yesterday, She said, She accused Robert of either taking the ornament or breaking it, And concealing the breakage, Robert denied both accusations, Most emphatically, And came to me nearly in tears sir, You may have noticed he was not himself at lunch, I wondered why he handed me the cutlets without giving me a plate, Murmured Maxim, I did not know Robert was so sensitive, Well, I suppose someone else did it, One of the maids, No sir, Mrs. Danvers went into the room before the girl had done the room, Nobody had been there since madam yesterday, And Robert first thing with the flowers, It makes it very unpleasant for Robert and myself sir, Yes, Of course it does, Well, You had better ask Mrs. Danvers to come here, And we'll get to the bottom of it, What ornament was it anyway, The china cupid sir, That stands on the writing table, Oh, Oh lord, That's one of our treasures isn't it, It will have to be found, Get hold of Mrs. Danvers at once, Very good sir, Frith left the room and we were alone again, What a confounded nuisance, Said Maxim, That cupid is worth a hell of a lot, How I loathe servants Rose too, I wonder why they come to me about it, That's your job sweetheart, I looked up from Jasper, My face red as fire, Darling, I said, I meant to tell you before, But I forgot, The fact is, I broke that cupid when I was in the morning room yesterday, You broke it, Well, Why the devil didn't you say so when Frith was here, I don't know, I didn't like to, I was afraid he would think me a fool, He'll think you much more of a fool now, You'll have to explain to him and Mrs. Danvers, Oh no, Please Maxim, You tell them, Let me go upstairs, Don't be a little idiot, Anyone would think you were afraid of them, I am afraid of them, At least, Not afraid, But, The door opened and Frith ushered Mrs. Danvers into the room, I looked nervously at Maxim, He shrugged his shoulders, Half amused, Half angry, It's all a mistake Mrs. Danvers, Apparently Mrs. De Winter broke the cupid herself, And forgot to say anything, Said Maxim, They all looked at me, It was like being a child again, I was still aware of my guilty flesh, I'm so sorry, I said, Watching Mrs. Danvers, I never thought Robert would get into trouble, Is it possible to repair the ornament madam, Said Mrs. Danvers, She did not seem to be surprised that I was the culprit, She looked at me with her white skull's face and her dark eyes, I felt she had known it was me all along, And had accused Robert, To see if I would have the courage to confess, I'm afraid not, I said, It's smashed in little pieces, What did you do with the pieces, Said Maxim, It was like being a prisoner, Giving evidence, How paltry and mean my actions sounded, Even to myself, I put them all into an envelope, I said, Well what did you do with the envelope, Said Maxim, Lighting a cigarette, His tone a mixture of amusement and exasperation, I put it at the back of one of the drawers in the writing desk, I said, It looks as though Mrs. De Winter thought you would put her in prison, Doesn't it Mrs. Danvers, Said Maxim, Perhaps you would find the envelope and send the pieces up to London, If they are too far gone to mend it can't be helped, All right Frith, Tell Robert to dry his tears, Mrs. Danvers lingered when Frith had gone, I will apologize to Robert of course, She said, But the evidence pointed so strongly to him, It did not occur to me that Mrs. De Winter had broken the ornament herself, Perhaps if such a thing should happen again, Mrs. De Winter will tell me personally and I will have the matter attended to, It would save everybody a lot of unpleasantness, Naturally, Said Maxim impatiently, I can't think why she didn't do so yesterday, I was just going to tell her when you came into the room, Perhaps Mrs. De Winter was not aware of the value of the ornament, Said Mrs. Danvers, Turning her eyes upon me, Yes, I said wretchedly, Yes, I was afraid it was valuable, That's why I swept the pieces up so carefully, And hid them at the back of a drawer where no one would find them, Eh, Said Maxim with a laugh and a shrug of the shoulders, Is not that the sort of thing the between maid is supposed to do, Mrs. Danvers, The between maid at Manderley would never be allowed to touch the valuable things in the morning room, Sir, Said Mrs. Danvers, No, I can't see you letting her, Said Maxim, It's very unfortunate, Said Mrs. Danvers, I don't think we have ever had any breakages in the morning room before, We were always so particular, I've done the dusting in there myself since last year, There was no one I could trust, When Mrs. De Winter was alive, We used to do the valuables together, Yes, Well, It can't be helped, Said Maxim, All right, Mrs. Danvers, She went out of the room, And I sat on the window seat, Looking out of the window, Maxim picked up his paper again, Neither of us spoke, I'm awfully sorry, Darling, I said after a moment, It was very careless of me, I can't think how it happened, I was just arranging those books on the desk to see if they would stand, And the cupid slipped, My sweet child, Forget it, What does it matter, It does matter, I ought to have been more careful, Mrs. Danvers must be furious with me, What the devil has she got to be furious about, It's not her bit of China, No, But she takes such a pride in it all, It's so awful to think nothing in there has ever been broken before, It had to be me, Better you than the luckless Robert, I wish it had been Robert, Mrs. Danvers will never forgive me, Damn Mrs. Danvers, Said Maxim, She's not God Almighty, Is she, I can't understand you, What do you mean by saying you are afraid of her, I did not mean afraid exactly, I don't see much of her, It's not that, I can't really explain, You do such extraordinary things, Said Maxim, Fancy not getting hold of her when you broke the thing and saying, Here Mrs. Danvers, Get this mended, She'd understand that, Instead of which you scrape up the remains in an envelope and hide them at the back of a drawer, Just like a between-maid as I said, And not the mistress of a house, I am like a between-maid, I said slowly, I know I am, In lots of ways, That's why I have so much in common with Clarice, We are on the same sort of footing, And that's why she likes me, I went and saw her mother the other day, Do you know what she said, I asked her if she thought Clarice was happy with us, And she said, Oh yes Mrs. DeWinter, Clarice seems quite happy, She says, It's not like being with a lady mum, It's like being with one of ourselves, Do you suppose she meant it as a compliment or not? God knows, Said Maxim, Remembering Clarice's mother, I should take it as a direct insult, Her cottage is generally a shambles, And smells of boiled cabbage, At one time she had nine children under eleven, And she herself used to patter about in that patch of garden, With no shoes and a stocking round her head, We nearly gave her notice to quit, Why Clarice looks as neat and clean as she does, I can't imagine, She's been living with an aunt, I said, Feeling rather subdued, I know my flannel skirt has a dirty mark down the front, But I've never walked barefoot with a stocking round my head, I knew now why Clarice did not disdain my underclothes as Alice had done, Perhaps that's why I prefer calling on Clarice's mother, To calling on people like the bishop's wife, I went on, The bishop's wife never said I was like one of themselves, If you wear that grubby skirt when you call on her, I don't suppose she does, Said Maxim, Of course I didn't call on her in my old skirt, I wore a frock, I said, And anyway, I don't think much of people who just judge one by one's clothes, I hardly think the bishop's wife cares two pence about clothes, Said Maxim, But she may have been rather surprised if you sat on the extreme edge of the chair and answered yes and no, Like someone after a new job, Which you did the only time we returned a call together, I can't help being shy, I know you can't sweetheart, But you don't make an effort to conquer it, I think that's very unfair, I said, I try every day, Every time I go out or meet anyone new, I'm always making efforts, You don't understand, It's all very well for you, You're used to that sort of thing, I have not been brought up to it, Wrought, Said Maxim, It's not a question of bringing up, As you put it, It's a matter of application, You don't think I like calling on people do you, It bores me stiff, But it has to be done in this part of the world, We're not talking about boredom, I said, There's nothing to be afraid of in being bored, If I was just bored, It would be different, I hate people looking me up and down as though I were a prized cow, Who looks you up and down, All the people down here, Everybody, What does it matter if they do, It gives them some interest in life, Why must I be the one to supply the interest and have all the criticism, Because life at Manderley is the only thing that ever interests anybody down here, What a slap in the eye I must be to them then, Maxim did not answer, He went on looking at his paper, What a slap in the eye I must be to them, I repeated, And then, I suppose that's why you married me, I said, You knew I was dull and quiet and inexperienced, So that there would never be any gossip about me, Maxim threw his paper on the ground and got up from his chair, What do you mean, He said, His face was dark and queer, And his voice was rough, Not his voice at all, I, I don't know, I said, Leaning back against the window, I don't mean anything, Why do you look like that, What do you know about any gossip down here, He said, I don't, I said, Scared by the way he looked at me, I only said it because, Because of something to say, Don't look at me like that, Maxim, What have I said, What's the matter, Who's been talking to you, He said slowly, No one, No one at all, Why did you say what you did, I tell you, I don't know, It just came to my head, I was angry, Cross, I do hate calling on these people, I can't help it, And you criticized me for being shy, I didn't mean it, Really, Maxim, I didn't, Please believe me, It was not a particularly attractive thing to say, Was it, He said, No, I said, No, It was rude, Hateful, He stared at me, Moodily, His hands in his pockets, Rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, I wonder, If I did a very selfish thing in marrying you, He said, He spoke slowly, Thoughtfully, I felt very cold, Rather sick, How do you mean, I said, I'm not much of a companion to you, Am I, He said, There are too many years between us, You ought to have waited, And then married a boy of your own age, Not someone like myself, With half his life behind him, That's ridiculous, I said hurriedly, You know age doesn't mean anything in marriage, Of course we are companions, Are we, I don't know, He said, I knelt up on the window seat and put my arms around his shoulders, Why do you say these things to me, I said, You know I love you more than anything in the world, There has never been anyone but you, You are my father and my brother and my son, All those things, It was my fault, He said, Not listening, I rushed you into it, I never gave you a chance to think it over, I did not want to think it over, I said, There was no other choice, You don't understand Maxim, When one loves a person, Are you happy here, He said, Looking away from me out of the window, I wonder sometimes, You've got thinner, Lost your color, Of course I'm happy, I said, I love Manderley, I love the garden, I love everything, I don't mind calling on people, I just said it to be tiresome, I'll call on people every day if you want me to, I don't mind what I do, I've never for one moment regretted marrying you, Surely you must know that, He patted my cheek in his terrible absent way and bent down and kissed the top of my head, Poor lamb, You don't have much fun, Do you, I'm afraid I'm very difficult to live with, You're not difficult, I said eagerly, You are easy, Very easy, Much easier than I thought you would be, I used to think it would be dreadful to be married, That one's husband would drink or use awful language or grumble if the toast was soft at breakfast and be rather unattractive altogether, Smell possibly, You don't do any of those things, Good God, I hope not, Said Maxim, And he smiled, I seized advantage of his smile, I smiled too and took his hands and kissed them, How absurd to say we are not companions, I said, Why look how we sit here every evening, You with a book or a paper and me with my knitting, Just like cups of tea, Just like old people married for years and years, Of course we are companions, Of course we are happy, You talk as though you thought we had made a mistake, You don't mean it like that, Do you, Maxim, You know our marriage is a success, A wonderful success, If you say so, Then it's all right, He said, No, But you think it too, Don't you, Darling, It's not just me, We are happy, Aren't we, Terribly happy, He did not answer, He went on staring out of the window while I held his hands, My throat felt dry and tight and my eyes were burning, Oh God, I thought, This is like two people in a play, In a moment the curtain will come down, We shall bow to the audience and go off to our dressing rooms, This can't be a real moment in the lives of Maxim and myself, I sat down on the window seat and let go of his hands, I heard myself speaking in a hard, Cool voice, If you don't think we are happy, It would be much better if you would admit it, I don't want you to pretend anything, I'd much rather go away, Not live with you anymore, It was not really happening of course, It was the girl in the play talking, Not me to Maxim, I pictured the type of girl who would play the part, Tall and slim, Rather nervy, Well, Why don't you answer me, I said, He took my face in his hands and looked at me, Just as he had before, When Frith had come into the room with tea, The day we went to the beach, How can I answer you, He said, I don't know the answer myself, If you say we are happy, Let's leave it at that, It's something I know nothing about, I take your word for it, We are happy, Alright then, That's agreed, He kissed me again and then walked away across the room, I went on sitting by the window, Stiff and straight, My hands in my lap, You say all this because you are disappointed in me, I said, I'm gauche and awkward, I dress badly, I'm shy with people, I warned you in Monte Carlo how it would be, You think I'm not right for Manderly, Don't talk nonsense, He said, I've never said you dressed badly or were gauche, It's your imagination, As for you being shy, You'll get over that, I've told you so before, We've argued in a circle, I said, We've come right back to where we started, This all began because I broke the cupid in the morning room, If I hadn't broke the cupid, None of this would have happened, We'd have drunk our coffee and gone out into the garden, Oh damn that infernal cupid, Said Maxim wearily, Do you really think I care whether it's in 10, 000 pieces or not, Was it very valuable, Heaven knows, I suppose so, I've really forgotten, Are all those things in the morning room valuable, Yes, I believe so, Why were all the most valuable things put in the morning room, I don't know, I suppose because they looked well there, Were they always there when your mother was alive, No, No I don't think they were, They were scattered about the house, The chairs were in a lumber room I believe, When was the morning room furnished as it is now, When I was married, I suppose the cupid was put there then, I suppose so, Was that found in a lumber room, No, No I don't think it was, As a matter of fact, I believe it was a wedding present, Rebecca knew a lot about China, I did not look at him, I began to polish my nails, He had said the word quite naturally, Quite calmly, It had been no effort to him, After a minute I glanced at him swiftly, He was standing by the mantelpiece, His hands in his pockets, He was staring straight in front of him, He is thinking about Rebecca, I said to myself, He is thinking how strange it was that a wedding present to me should have been the cause of destroying a wedding present to Rebecca, He is thinking about the cupid, He is remembering who gave it to Rebecca, He is going over in his mind how the parcel came and how pleased she was, Rebecca knew a lot about China, Perhaps he came into the room and she was kneeling on the floor, Wrenching open the little crate in which the cupid was packed, She must have glanced up at him and smiled, Look Max, She would have said, Look what we've been sent, And then she would have plunged her hand down into the shavings and brought out the cupid who stood on one foot, His bow in his hand, We'll have it in the morning room, She must have said, And he must have knelt down beside her and they must have looked at the cupid together, I went on polishing my nails, They were scrubby, Like a schoolboy's nails, The cuticles grew up over the half moons, The thumb was bitten nearly to the quick, I looked at Maxim again, He was still standing in front of the fireplace, What are you thinking about, I said, My voice was steady and cool, Not like my heart thumping inside me, Not like my mind bitter and resentful, He lit a cigarette, Surely the 25th that day, And we had only just finished lunch, He threw the match into the empty grate, He picked up the paper, Nothing very much, Why, He said, Oh, I don't know, I said, You look so serious, So far away, He whistled a tune absently, The cigarette twisting in his fingers, As a matter of fact, I was wondering if they had chosen the Surrey side to play Middlesex at the Oval, He said, He sat down in the chair again and folded the paper, I looked out of the window, Presently Jasper came to me and climbed on my lap,