Jacob’s Room, Virginia Woolf [books like beach read .TXT] 📗

For Clara, losing all vivacity, tore up her dance programme and threw it in the fender.

Such were the very serious consequences of the invention of paper flowers to swim in bowls.

“Please,” said Julia Eliot, taking up her position by the curtain almost opposite the door, “don’t introduce me. I like to look on. The amusing thing,” she went on, addressing Mr. Salvin, who, owing to his lameness, was accommodated with a chair, “the amusing thing about a party is to watch the people⁠—coming and going, coming and going.”

“Last time we met,” said Mr. Salvin, “was at the Farquhars. Poor lady! She has much to put up with.”

“Doesn’t she look charming?” exclaimed Miss Eliot, as Clara Durrant passed them.

“And which of them⁠ ⁠… ?” asked Mr. Salvin, dropping his voice and speaking in quizzical tones.

“There are so many⁠ ⁠…” Miss Eliot replied. Three young men stood at the doorway looking about for their hostess.

“You don’t remember Elizabeth as I do,” said Mr. Salvin, “dancing Highland reels at Banchorie. Clara lacks her mother’s spirit. Clara is a little pale.”

“What different people one sees here!” said Miss Eliot.

“Happily we are not governed by the evening papers,” said Mr. Salvin.

“I never read them,” said Miss Eliot. “I know nothing about politics,” she added.

“The piano is in tune,” said Clara, passing them, “but we may have to ask someone to move it for us.”

“Are they going to dance?” asked Mr. Salvin.

“Nobody shall disturb you,” said Mrs. Durrant peremptorily as she passed.

“Julia Eliot. It is Julia Eliot!” said old Lady Hibbert, holding out both her hands. “And Mr. Salvin. What is going to happen to us, Mr. Salvin? With all my experience of English politics⁠—My dear, I was thinking of your father last night⁠—one of my oldest friends, Mr. Salvin. Never tell me that girls often are incapable of love! I had all Shakespeare by heart before I was in my teens, Mr. Salvin!”

“You don’t say so,” said Mr. Salvin.

“But I do,” said Lady Hibbert.

“Oh, Mr. Salvin, I’m so sorry.⁠ ⁠…”

“I will remove myself if you’ll kindly lend me a hand,” said Mr. Salvin.

“You shall sit by my mother,” said Clara. “Everybody seems to come in here.⁠ ⁠… Mr. Calthorp, let me introduce you to Miss Edwards.”

“Are you going away for Christmas?” said Mr. Calthorp.

“If my brother gets his leave,” said Miss Edwards.

“What regiment is he in?” said Mr. Calthorp.

“The Twentieth Hussars,” said Miss Edwards.

“Perhaps he knows my brother?” said Mr. Calthorp.

“I am afraid I did not catch your name,” said Miss Edwards.

“Calthorp,” said Mr. Calthorp.

“But what proof was there that the marriage service was actually performed?” said Mr. Crosby.

“There is no reason to doubt that Charles James Fox⁠ ⁠…” Mr. Burley began; but here Mrs. Stretton told him that she knew his sister well; had stayed with her not six weeks ago; and thought the house charming, but bleak in winter.

“Going about as girls do nowadays⁠—” said Mrs. Forster.

Mr. Bowley looked round him, and catching sight of Rose Shaw moved towards her, threw out his hands, and exclaimed: “Well!”

“Nothing!” she replied. “Nothing at all⁠—though I left them alone the entire afternoon on purpose.”

“Dear me, dear me,” said Mr. Bowley. “I will ask Jimmy to breakfast.”

“But who could resist her?” cried Rose Shaw. “Dearest Clara⁠—I know we mustn’t try to stop you⁠ ⁠…”

“You and Mr. Bowley are talking dreadful gossip, I know,” said Clara.

“Life is wicked⁠—life is detestable!” cried Rose Shaw.

“There’s not much to be said for this sort of thing, is there?” said Timothy Durrant to Jacob.

“Women like it.”

“Like what?” said Charlotte Wilding, coming up to them.

“Where have you come from?” said Timothy. “Dining somewhere, I suppose.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Charlotte.

“People must go downstairs,” said Clara, passing. “Take Charlotte, Timothy. How d’you do, Mr. Flanders.”

“How d’you do, Mr. Flanders,” said Julia Eliot, holding out her hand. “What’s been happening to you?”

“Who is Silvia? what is she?
That all our swains commend her?”

sang Elsbeth Siddons.

Everyone stood where they were, or sat down if a chair was empty.

“Ah,” sighed Clara, who stood beside Jacob, halfway through.

“Then to Silvia let us sing,
That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling.
To her let us garlands bring,”

sang Elsbeth Siddons.

“Ah!” Clara exclaimed out loud, and clapped her gloved hands; and Jacob clapped his bare ones; and then she moved forward and directed people to come in from the doorway.

“You are living in London?” asked Miss Julia Eliot.

“Yes,” said Jacob.

“In rooms?”

“Yes.”

“There is Mr. Clutterbuck. You always see Mr. Clutterbuck here. He is not very happy at home, I am afraid. They say that Mrs. Clutterbuck⁠ ⁠…” she dropped her voice. “That’s why he stays with the Durrants. Were you there when they acted Mr. Wortley’s play? Oh, no, of course not⁠—at the last moment, did you hear⁠—you had to go to join your mother, I remember, at Harrogate⁠—At the last moment, as I was saying, just as everything was ready, the clothes finished and everything⁠—Now Elsbeth is going to sing again. Clara is playing her accompaniment or turning over for Mr. Carter, I think. No, Mr. Carter is playing by himself⁠—This is Bach,” she whispered, as Mr. Carter played the first bars.

“Are you fond of music?” said Mr. Durrant.

“Yes. I like hearing it,” said Jacob. “I know nothing about it.”

“Very few people do that,” said Mrs. Durrant. “I daresay you were never taught. Why is that, Sir Jasper?⁠—Sir Jasper Bigham⁠—Mr. Flanders. Why is nobody taught anything that they ought to know, Sir Jasper?” She left them standing against the wall.

Neither of the gentlemen said anything for three minutes, though Jacob shifted perhaps five inches to the left, and then as many to the right. Then Jacob grunted, and suddenly crossed the room.

“Will you come and have something to eat?” he said to Clara Durrant.

“Yes, an ice. Quickly. Now,” she said.

Downstairs they went.

But halfway down they met Mr. and Mrs. Gresham, Herbert Turner, Sylvia Rashleigh, and a friend, whom they had dared to bring, from America, “knowing that Mrs. Durrant⁠—wishing to show Mr. Pilcher.⁠—Mr. Pilcher from New York⁠—This is Miss Durrant.”

“Whom I have heard so much of,” said Mr. Pilcher, bowing low.

So Clara left him.

VIII

About half-past nine Jacob left the house, his door slamming, other doors slamming, buying his paper, mounting his omnibus, or, weather permitting, walking his