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 Complete Spanish
Step-by-Step
The Fastest Way to Achieve
Spanish Mastery

Barbara Bregstein

i-xx_001-600_McGrawHill_Complete.indb 1 6/30/16 12:09 AM

Copyright © 2016 by McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of
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 Contents

Preface  xiii
Guide to Pronunciation   xv
The Alphabet  xx
Greetings and Salutations   xx

I Elements of a Sentence
1 Nouns, Articles, and Adjectives  3
The Gender of Nouns and the Definite Article   3
Singular Nouns  3
Plural Nouns  6
The Indefinite Article   7
Singular Indefinite Articles   7
Plural Indefinite Articles   8
Adjectives  9
Singular Form of Adjectives   9
Plural Form of Adjectives   12

2 Estar, Ser, and Subject Pronouns  14

Subject Pronouns  14
Estar (to be)   15
Ser (to be)   18
Reading Comprehension   La casa  25

iii

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 iv Contents

3 Hay, Interrogative Words, Days, and Months  27

Hay  27
Interrogative Words  29
Prepositions  31
Days of the Week, Months, and Seasons   32
Reading Comprehension   Un pueblo colonial  33
Reading Comprehension   El cine  39

4 Numbers, Dates, and Time  40

Cardinal Numbers  40
Ordinal Numbers  44
The Date  46
Telling Time  47
Reading Comprehension   El restaurante  51
Reading Comprehension   El oficio de la casa  54

5 Regular Verbs  56
Uses of the Present Tense   56
-Ar Verbs  57
-Er Verbs  62
-Ir Verbs  64
-Ar and -er Verbs with More than One Meaning   66
Reading Comprehension   Una escuela en México  68

6 Irregular Verbs  70
-Ar Verbs  70
-Er Verbs  72
Sentence Formation  73
-Ir Verbs  75
Reading Comprehension   El tren  79

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 Contentsv

7 Ir and the Future  82

Ir (to go)  82
The Future with the Verb ir  83
Idioms  85
Idioms with the Verb tener  85
Other Idioms  87
Useful Words: que and para  89
The Relative Pronoun que  89
The Conjunction que  89
The Preposition para  90
Key Vocabulary  91
Las partes del cuerpo (Parts of the Body)   91
La familia  92
Time Expressions with hacer  93
Reading Comprehension   La cita  99

8 Adjectives and Adverbs  102

Possessive Adjectives  102
Demonstrative Adjectives  104
Neuter Demonstrative Pronouns   105
Adjectives of Nationality   105
Adjectives That Precede a Noun   108
Comparative Adjectives  113
Superlative Adjectives  114
Irregular Comparatives and Superlatives   114
Comparing Nouns  115
Comparing Verbs  115
Adverbs  117
Adverbs That Do Not Take the Suffix -mente  119
Reading Comprehension   La fiesta  123

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 vi Contents

 9 Negatives and Prepositions  125

Negatives  125
Prepositions  131
Prepositions Followed by Verbs or Nouns   132
Prepositions Followed by Nouns or Pronouns   132
Pronouns That Follow Prepositions   133
The Preposition por  134
Por and para Compared  136
Reading Comprehension   El circo  140
Key Vocabulary  141
Nature  141
Weather  142
Reading Comprehension   El trabajo  149

II Objects, Reflexive Verbs,

and the Present Subjunctive
10 The Indirect Object  153
Gustar and the Indirect Object   153
Me gusta and me gustan  153
Te gusta and te gustan  155
Le gusta and le gustan  156
Nos gusta and nos gustan  157
Les gusta and les gustan  157
Verbs Like gustar  159
The Indirect Object Pronoun   163
Position of the Indirect Object Pronoun   165
Reading Comprehension   Ir de compras  174
Reading Comprehension   El viaje  175

11 The Direct Object  177

The Personal a and the Direct Object   177
Transitive Verbs  178
The Direct Object Pronoun   182
Position of the Direct Object Pronoun   183
The Direct Object Pronoun as a Person   184
The Direct Object Pronoun as a Thing   186
Reading Comprehension   La bienvenida  191

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 Contentsvii

12 Reflexive Verbs  193
The Reflexive Pronouns   193
Some Frequently Used Reflexive Verbs   194
Reflexive Verbs Whose English Translations Do Not Necessarily Include Oneself  195
Position of the Reflexive Pronoun   195
Reflexive Verbs with Parts of the Body and Clothing   197
Reflexive Verbs That Express Emotion   197
Reflexive Verbs That Express Movement   198
Reflexive Verbs That Express “To Become”   199
Most Frequently Used Reflexive Verbs   199
Reflexive Verbs with Reciprocal Meanings   202
Se and Impersonal Expressions   203
Reading Comprehension   El encuentro  204

13 The Present Subjunctive  206

Formation of the Present Subjunctive   206
-Ar Verbs  207
-Er and -ir Verbs  208
Irregular Verbs  210
Verbs with Orthographic Changes   210
Uses of the Present Subjunctive   212
After Certain Impersonal Expressions   212
After Certain Verbs   214
After Certain Conjunctions   220
After cuando  221
In Certain Dependent Adjective Clauses   223
After the Expressions por más que and por mucho que  223
After ojalá  223
After acaso, quizás, and tal vez  224
After aunque  224
After Compounds of -quiera  224
After como  224
Reading Comprehension   La despedida  231

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 viii Contents

III Preterit Tense, Imperfect Tense,

and Double Object Pronouns
14 The Preterit Tense  235
Formation of the Preterit   235
Regular -ar Verbs  235
Regular -er and -ir Verbs  236
Uses of the Preterit   238
To Express an Action Completed in the Past   238
To Express a Series of Completed Actions in the Past   239
To Express a Condition That Is No Longer in Effect   239
Irregular Verbs  240
-Ir Verbs with Stem Changes in the Third Person   246
Verbs with Orthographic Changes   248
-Ar Verbs  248
-Er and -ir Verbs  251
Verbs with Special Meanings in the Preterit   253
Reading Comprehension   En la corte (primera escena)   255

15 The Imperfect Tense  257

Formation of the Imperfect   257
Regular -ar Verbs  257
Regular -er and -ir Verbs  258
Irregular Verbs  259
Uses of the Imperfect   260
To “Set the Stage” in the Past; to Express a Narration, Situation, or Background   260
To Express Habitual, Customary, or Repeated Actions in the Past   260
To Express Continuous Actions in the Past   261
To Express a Description in the Past   261
To Express Point of Origin in the Past   261
To Express Time in the Past   262
To Express One’s Age in the Past   262
Preterit and Imperfect Compared   265
Querer, poder, saber  266
Double Object Pronouns   270
Indirect Object Pronoun with Direct Object Pronoun   270
Reflexive Pronoun with Direct Object Pronoun   278
Se Plus the Indirect Object Pronoun and Unplanned Occurrences   279
Reading Comprehension   El juicio (segunda escena)   282

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 Contentsix

IV Ser and Estar; Present, Preterit, and

Imperfect Tenses; Progressive Tenses;
Present Subjunctive; Commands
16 Ser and Estar and the Present Tense
Estar (to be) 287
Ser (to be) 292
Reading Comprehension Machu Picchu 303

17 Ser and Estar in the Preterit and Imperfect Tenses

Preterit Tense 305
Imperfect Tense 309
Regular Verbs in the Preterit 313
Irregular Verbs in the Preterit 315
Regular Verbs in the Imperfect 317
Irregular Verbs in the Imperfect 319
Comparison of Preterit and Imperfect 319
Reading Comprehension Marianela 322

18 The Present Progressive Tense

Gerund Formation 325
Formation of the Present Progressive Tense 329
Use of the Present Progressive Tense 329
Placement of Object Pronouns 332
Uses of the Gerund with Verbs Other Than estar 336
Reading Comprehension La parada del bus 340

19 The Past Progressive Tenses

The Imperfect Progressive Tense 342
The Preterit Progressive Tense 345
Reading Comprehension El hospital 351

20 The Present Subjunctive

Formation of the Present Subjunctive 354
Uses of the Present Subjunctive 361
Other Tenses That Cause the Present Subjunctive 375
Reading Comprehension El juicio 378

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 x Contents

21 Commands
Affirmative tú Commands 382
Negative tú Commands 386
Ud. and Uds. Commands 391
Other Ways of Asking People to Do Things 394
Reading Comprehension Perdida en Nicaragua 397
The nosotros Command: “Let us . . .” 399
Affirmative vosotros Commands 402
Negative vosotros Commands 402
Reading Comprehension La Noche de Brujas 405

V Nouns, Articles, Adjectives, Pronouns;

Present and Past Perfect Tenses
22 Nouns, Articles, Adjectives, and Pronouns
Nouns and Articles 409
Possessive Adjectives 414
Possessive Pronouns 419
Relative Pronouns 423
Demonstrative Adjectives and Pronouns 428
Reading Comprehension Mi viaje 430
The Neuter lo 1 Adjective Used as a Noun 431
Adjectives Used as Nouns 433
Pronouns Used as Nouns 434
Pronunciation Practice Los maderos de San Juan 435
Reading Comprehension Lo fatal 436

23 The Present Perfect Tense

Formation of the Past Participle 438
Formation of the Present Perfect Tense 441
Uses of the Present Perfect Tense 443
Placement of Object Pronouns with the Present Perfect Tense 444
Use of the Infinitive haber and the Past Participle 445
Reading Comprehension El apartamento 449

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 Contentsxi

24 The Past Perfect Tense

Formation of the Past Perfect Tense 451
Uses of the Past Perfect Tense 451
Reading Comprehension El sueño 454
Reading Comprehension Recordando Nicaragua 455
The Past Participle as an Adjective 456
The Past Participle with ser and the Passive Voice 460
Reading Comprehension El conde Lucanor 462

VI Future and Conditional Tenses;

Past Subjunctive; Idioms
25 The Future Tense
Formation of the Future Tense 465
Uses of the Future Tense 472
The Future Progressive Tense 479
The Future Perfect Tense 480
Reading Comprehension El porvenir 481

26 The Conditional Tense

Formation of the Conditional Tense 483
Uses of the Conditional Tense 489
The Conditional Progressive Tense 493
The Conditional Perfect Tense 494
Reading Comprehension ¿Qué haría Ud. en las siguientes situaciones? 496

27 The Present Perfect Subjunctive

Formation of the Present Perfect Subjunctive 498
Uses of the Present Perfect Subjunctive 498
Reading Comprehension La isla en el Caribe 502

28 The Imperfect Subjunctive

Formation of the Imperfect Subjunctive 505
Uses of the Imperfect Subjunctive 511
Reading Comprehension El barco económico 518
Reading Comprehension Xochicalco 527

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 xii Contents

29 The Past Perfect Subjunctive

Formation of the Past Perfect Subjunctive 529
Uses of the Past Perfect Subjunctive 529
Reading Comprehension Su punto de vista 541

30 Idioms
Idioms with Prepositions 544
Idioms with Verbs 547
Time Expressions 551
Reading Comprehension La defensa de Sócrates 554

Appendix: List of Verbs 557

Answer Key 564
Index 591

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 Nouns, Articles, and Adjectives xiii

Preface

Complete Spanish Step-by-Step is a progressive program that will help you

learn Spanish—talking, reading, and writing—as quickly and as thoroughly
as possible, and then lead you to mastery and fluency in the language. Writ-
ten for beginner and advanced-beginner learners, it teaches grammar and
conversation in the most logical order to enable you to develop your lan-
guage skills naturally to the level of intermediate and advanced learners.
To take full advantage of the unique grammatical progression of the
book, you should study each chapter, or step, one after another. Do not skip
around. Each step you take will lead you to the next. Each chapter contains
clear grammar explanations; be sure to understand every concept before
moving on to the next. Notice that there are few exceptions to rules, so once
you have learned a concept, it is yours.
Try to learn the vocabulary and verbs provided; they have been carefully
selected on the basis of usefulness and frequency. The vocabulary lists will
help enhance your communication, while complete verb conjugations are
given so that you can practice pronunciation as you learn verbs. Over 300 of
the most common verbs in Spanish are presented.
Varied written and oral exercises are included to check your understanding
and progress. (The book has a complete answer key in the back.) It is also a
good idea to write your own questions and sentences and practice them aloud.
Sometimes, your own creations are more interesting and aid in learning.
Original readings are included in every chapter; they become progres-
sively more challenging in form and content throughout the book, leading
to poems and stories by acclaimed authors. Use these reading comprehen-
sion sections to learn new vocabulary and to practice reading aloud.
Complete Spanish Step-by-Step is divided into six parts. The first gives
you all the fundamentals of the language in the present tense. You will no-
tice that the word order of English and Spanish in this part is essentially the

xiii

i-xx_001-600_McGrawHill_Complete.indb 13 6/30/16 12:09 AM

 xiv Preface

same. This makes learning in the early stages very quick. The second part
explains indirect objects, direct objects, direct object pronouns, reflexive
verbs, and the present subjunctive. The third part presents the two most
used tenses in the past, the preterit and the imperfect. The fourth part re-
views the present tense and uses of ser and estar, the preterit and imperfect
tenses, the progressive tenses, the present subjunctive, and commands. The
fifth part is an in-depth explanation of nouns, articles, adjectives, pronouns,
and the present and past perfect tenses. The sixth part covers the future and
conditional tenses, the past subjunctive, and idioms.
A student once asked me if Spanish is truly easy. It is, in comparison to
any of the other languages of the world. To start with, the pronunciation is
easy. Spanish is a phonetically perfect language, which means that once you
learn to pronounce each vowel and consonant, you will be able to pro-
nounce all words correctly. Before you begin, practice all the sounds out-
lined in the Guide to Pronunciation in the following pages. If possible, try
to practice with a native speaker. Then, remember to read and answer ques-
tions aloud as much as you can to develop your pronunciation.
This book is written with a logical approach that makes it accessible,
even when some concepts are difficult, whether you are a self-study learner
or a student in an organized teaching program. With Complete Spanish
Step-by-Step, you will see that everything falls quickly into place. In a few
weeks, you will be able to read and write Spanish quite easily, and as you
progress, you will learn to speak fluently, using all elements of Spanish. And
once you learn the Spanish in this book, you will be able to get along in any
Spanish-speaking country. The grammar is standard in all parts of the Span-
ish-speaking world, and although accents change from place to place, you
will get accustomed to the sounds very quickly. Have fun and enjoy using
Spanish everywhere you need it. See you in Xochicalco!

Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Nestor Rodriguez, teacher of English and Spanish at City
College of New York, for his invaluable language insights, expertise and editing
of both Easy Spanish Step-by-Step and Advanced Spanish Step-by-Step, upon
which this book is based. I would also like to thank John Piazza for his insights,
contributions, and editing of Advanced Spanish Step-by-Step. I gratefully ac-
knowledge their assistance throughout the development of this book.
I would also like to thank Silvia Ballinas, teacher and director of Escuela
Experiencia in Tepoztlán, Mexico, Antonio Zea, linguist and professor at
Escuela Acacias in Málaga, Spain, Alonia King, Janet Odums, and Lois
Shearer. I would also like to thank William Bonner for his invaluable guid-
ance and all my students from District Council 37 in New York City.

i-xx_001-600_McGrawHill_Complete.indb 14 6/30/16 12:09 AM

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This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
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PILGRIMAGE, VOLUME 5 ***
INTERIM
VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES:

POINTED ROOFS
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INTERIM
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BY
DOROTHY M. RICHARDSON
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First Published 1919
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INTERIM
 CHAPTER I

M iriam thumped her Gladstone bag down on to the doorstep.

Stout boots hurried along the tiled passage and the door
opened on Florrie in her outdoor clothes smiling brilliantly from
under the wide brim of a heavily trimmed hat. Grace in a large
straight green dress appeared beside her from the open dining-room
door. Miriam finished her cadenza with the door knocker while Florrie
bent to secure her bag saying on a choke of laughter, come in.
You’ve just been out, said Miriam listening to Grace’s soothing
reproaches for her lateness. Shall I come in or shall I burst into tears
and sit down on the doorstep? Florrie laughed aloud, standing with
the bag. Bring her in scolded Mrs. Philps from the dining-room door.
Grace took her by the arm and drew her along the passage. I’m one
mass of mud.—Never mind the mud, come in out of the rain, scolded
Mrs. Philps backing towards the fire, you must be worn out.—No, I
don’t feel tired now I’m here, oh what a heavenly fire. Miriam heard
the front door shut with a shallow suburban slam and got herself
round the supper table to stand with Mrs. Philps on the hearthrug
and smile into the fire. Mrs. Philps patted her arm and cheek. Is the
door really shut O’Hara said Miriam turning to Florrie coming into the
room. Of course it is, choked Florrie coming to the hearthrug to pat
her;—I’ll put the chain up if you like.—Sit down and rest before you
go upstairs said Mrs. Philps propelling her gently backwards into the
largest of the velvet armchairs. Its back sloped away from her; the
large square cushion bulging out the lower half of the long woollen
antimacassar prevented her from getting comfortably into the chair.
She sat on the summit of the spring and said it was not cold.
Wouldn’t you like to come up before supper suggested Grace in
answer to her uneasy gazing into the fire. Well I feel rather grubby.
Give her some hot water murmured Mrs. Philps taking up the Daily
Telegraph. Grace preceded her up the little staircase carrying her
bag. Will you have your milk hot or cold Miriam? called Florrie from
below—Oh, hot I think please, I shan’t be a second said Miriam into
the spare room, hoping to be left. Grace turned up the gas. M-m
darling she murmured with timid gentle kisses, I’m so glad you have
come. So am I. It’s glorious to be safely here ... I shan’t be a
second. I’ll come down as I am and appear radiant to-morrow—
You’re always radiant—I’m simply grubby; I’ve worn this blouse all
the week; oh bliss, hot water. Sit on the rocking chair while I ablute;
unpack my bag—D’you mind if I don’t Miriam darling? Aunt and I
called on the Unwins to-day and I haven’t put my hat by yet. We’ve
got three clear days—All right, oh my dear you don’t know how glad
I am I’m here—Grace came back murmuring from the door to repeat
the gentle kisses. When the door was shut the freshness and
quietude of the room enfolded Miriam, smoothing away grubbiness
and fatigue. Opening her Gladstone bag she threw on to the bed her
new cream nun’s veiling blouse and lace tie, her brushbag and
sponge-bag and shoes and a volume of Schiller and a bundle of
note-paper and envelopes. A night-gown was put ready for her on
the bed frilled in an old-fashioned way with hand-made embroidery.
Her bag went under the bed for nearly four days. Nothing grubby
anywhere. No grubbiness for four days. In the large square mirror
her dingy blouse and tie looked quite bright under the gaslight
screened by the frosted globe. Her hair had been flattened by her
hat becomingly over the broad top of her head, and its mass pushed
down in a loose careless bundle with good chance curves reaching
low on to her neck. She poured the hot water into one of the large
cream-coloured basins, her eye running round the broad gilt-edged
band ornamenting its rim over the gleaming marble cover of the
washstand, the gleaming tiles facing her beyond the rim of the
basin, the highly polished woodwork above the tiles. She snuffed
freshness everywhere. While the fresh unscented curdiness of the
familiar Broom soap went over her face and wrists and hands she
began to hunger for the clean supper, for the fresh night in the
freshness of the large square bed, for the clean solid leisurely
breakfast. Pushing back her hair she sponged the day from her face
sousing luxuriously in the large basin and listening to Grace moving
slowly about upstairs. Seizing a towel she ran up the little single
flight and stood towelling inside Grace’s door. Hullo pink-face,
laughed Grace tenderly, smoothing tissue paper into a large hat box
—I say it must be an enormous one—It is; it’s huge smiled Grace—
You must show it to me to-morrow—Miriam ran downstairs and back
to the mirror in her room to look at her clean untroubled face. Don’t
run about the house, come down to supper, called Florrie from
below.

2
Have they brought the sausages, asked Mrs. Philps acidly.
Yes, scowled Florrie.
Don’t forget to tell Christine how we like them done, said Grace
frowning anxiously. Miriam took her eyes from the protruding eyes of
the Shakespeare on the wall opposite, and shut away within her her
sharp sense of the many things ranged below him on the
mantlepiece behind Florrie, the landscape on one side of him, the
picture of Queen Victoria leaning on a walking stick between two
Hindu servants, receiving an address, on the other side, the Satsuma
vases and bowls on the sideboard behind Mrs. Philps, the little sharp
bow of narrow curtain-screened windows behind Grace, the clean
gleam on everything.
Christine?
Oh yes, didn’t you know? She’s been with us a month—
What became of Amelia?
 Oh we had to let her go. She got fat and lazy.
They all do! they’re all the same—Go on Miriam.
—Well, said Miriam from the midst of her second helping—they
both listened, and the steps came shambling up their stairs—and
they heard the man collapse with a groan against their door. They
waited and, well, all at once the man, well, they heard him being
violently ill—Oh Miriam—Yes; wasn’t it awful? and then a feeble
voice like a chant—a-a-a-ah-oo—oo-oo-oo kom, and hailpemee—Oh
Meester Bell, kom, oh, I am freezing to death, what a pity what a
pity—and then silence. She fed rapidly, holding them all silently
eager for her voice again to fill out the spaces of their room—For
about half an hour they heard him break out, every few minutes, oh
Meester Bell, dear pretty Mr. Bell kom. I am freezing to death whatta
pity—whattapity. The Brooms sat breaking one against the other into
fresh laughter. Miriam ate rapidly glancing from face to face. What-
eh-pitie—what-eh-pitie she moaned. Can’t you hear him? Grace
choked and sneezed and drank a little milk. They were all still slowly
and carefully eating their first helping.—You do come across some
funny people said Mrs. Philps mopping her eyes and dimpling and
sighing upon the end of her laughter. I didn’t come across him. It
was at Mag’s and Jan’s boarding house. Mrs. Philps had not begun to
listen at the beginning. But Grace and Florrie saw the whole thing
clearly. Mrs. Philps did not remember who Mag and Jan were. She
would not unless one told her all about their circumstances and their
parents. Florrie’s face was preparing a question. Then they must
have—went on Miriam. There was a subdued ring at the front door
bell.—There’s Christine shall we have her in to change the plates
aunt, frowned Florrie.—No let ’er changer dress. We can put the
plates on the sideboard—Then they must both have gone to sleep
again, said Miriam when Florrie returned from letting Christine in—
because they did not hear him go downstairs and he wasn’t there in
the morning—A good thing I should think, observed Mrs. Philps. He
wasn’t there said Miriam cheerfully—er—not in person. Oh Miriam,
protested Grace hysterically. Oh—oh—cried the others. Miriam
watched the second course appearing from the sideboard—she
greeted the blancmange and jam with a soft shout, feeling as
hungry as when supper had begun. Isn’t she rude chuckled Florrie,
putting down a plate of bananas and a small dish of chocolates.
Ooo-ooo squealed Miriam—Be quiet and behave yourself and begin
on that said Grace giving her a plate of blancmange. Oh yes and
then said Miriam inspired to remember more of her story—it all came
out. He must have got down somehow to his room in the morning.
But he lay on the floor—he told them at dinner—all of mee could not
find thee bed at once!—Oh-oh-oh—He had been—she cried raising
her voice above the tumult—to a birthday party; twenty-seex
wheeskies and sodahs....—Why did he talk like that? Was he an
Irishman? Oh, can’t you hear? He was a Hindu. They all talk like
that. “I will kindly shut the door.” When they write letters they begin
—Honoured and spanking sir, wept Miriam—they find spanking in the
dictionary and their letters are like that all the way through, masses
of the most amazing adjectives. Why did Mag and Jan leave that
boarding house? asked Florrie into the midst of Miriam’s absorption
with the solid tears on Mrs. Philps’s cheekbones. She was longing for
Mrs. Philps to see the second thing, not only the funniness of
spanking addressed to a civil servant, but exactly how spanking
would look to a Hindu. If only they could see those things as well as
produce their heavenly laughs. Oh, I don’t know, she said wearily;
you see they never meant to go there. They wanted a place of their
own. If only they could realise Mag and Jan. There was never
enough time and strength to make everything clear. At every turn
there was something they saw differently. They are a pair she
breathed sleepily. No, thanks, she answered formally to an offer of
more blancmange. She was beginning to feel strong and sleepy. No
thanks she repeated formally as the heavy dish of bananas came her
way. She wants a chocolate said Florrie from across the table.
Miriam revived a little. Take two begged Mrs. Philps. They’re so
huge, said Miriam obeying and leaving the chocolates on her plate
while her mind moved heavily about seeking a topic. They were all
beginning on bananas. It would be endless. By the time it came to
sitting over the fire she would be almost asleep. She stirred uneasily.
Someone must be seeing her longing and impatience.
 3
Miriam lost threads while Christine cleared away supper, pondering
the thick expressionless figure and hands and the heavy sallow
sullen face. She was very short. The Brooms watched her
undisturbed, from their places by the fire, now and again addressing
instructions in low frowning voices from the midst of conversation—
Do sit down said Mrs. Philps at intervals—I’ve been sitting down all
day said Miriam swaying on her toes—I think we did half believe it
she pursued with biting heartiness, aching with the onset of
questions, speaking to make warmth and distraction for Christine.
She had never thought about it. Had they half believed it? Had
anyone ever put it to them in so many words? Giving an opinion
opened so many things. It was impossible to show everything, the
more opinions you expressed the more you misled people and the
further you got away from them—Because she continued with a
singing animation; Christine glanced;—we never heard anyone come
in—although—(the room enclosed her even more happily with
Christine there, everything looked even more itself)—we stayed
awake till what seemed almost morning, always till long after the
ser-m- our domestic staff had gone to bed. Their rooms were on the
same floor as the night nursery—Christine was padding out with a
tray, her back to the room; she had a holiday every year and regular
off times and plenty of money to buy clothes and presents; probably
she had some sort of home. When she had taken away the last of
the supper things and closed the door Grace patted the arm of the
vacant armchair. I like this best, said Miriam drawing up a little
carved wooden stool—oh don’t sit on that cried Mrs. Philps.—I’m all
right said Miriam hurriedly, looking at no one and drawing herself
briskly upright with her eyes on the clear blaze. Grace and Florrie
were close on either side of her in straight chairs, leaning forward
towards the fire. Mrs. Philps sat back in the smaller of the armchairs,
its unyielding cushion sending her body forward, her small chest
crouched, her head bent and propped on her hand, half facing their
close row and gazing into the fire. There was a silence. Florrie
cleared her throat and glanced at Miriam. Miriam half turned with
weary resentment.—Did you used to hang up stockings Miriam said
Florrie quickly. Miriam assented hastily, staring at the fire. Florrie
patiently cleared her throat. With weary animation Miriam dropped
phrases about the parcels that were too big for the stocking, the
feeling of them against one’s feet when one moved in the morning.
Shy watchful glances came to her from Florrie. Grace took her hand
and made encouraging sympathetic sounds. How secure they were,
sitting with all the holiday ahead over the fire which would be lit
again for them in the morning. This was only the fag-end of the first
evening and it was beginning to be like the beginning of a new day.
Things were coming to her out of the fire, fresh and new, seen for
the first time; a flood of images. She watched them with eyes
suddenly cool and sleepless, relaxing her stiff attitude and smiling
vaguely at the fire-irons. She’s tired; she wants to go to bed said
Mrs. Philps turning her head. The two heads came round—Do you
my sweet asked Grace pressing her hand.—You shall have breakfast
in bed if you like—Miriam grimaced briskly in her direction.—Did you
have a Noah’s ark she asked smiling at the fire. Yes; Florrie had one.
Uncle George gave it to her.—They began describing.—Didn’t you
love it? broke in Miriam presently.—Do you remember—and she
recalled the Noah’s ark as it had looked on the nursery floor, the
offended stiffness of the rescued family, the look of the elephants
and giraffes and the green and yellow grasshoppers and the red lady
bird, all standing about alive amongst the little stiff bright green
trees—We had a farm-yard too, pigs; and ducks and geese and hens
with feathers—We used to stand them all out together on the floor,
and the grocer’s shop and all our dolls sitting round against the
nursery wall. It used to make me perfectly happy. It would still—
Everyone laughed—It would. It does only to think of it. And there
was a doll’s house with a door that opened and a staircase and
furniture in the rooms. I can smell the smell of the inside at this
moment. But the thing I liked best and never got accustomed to was
a little alabaster church with coloured glass windows and a place
inside for a candle. We used to put that out on the floor too. I wish I
had it now.... The kaleidoscope. Do you remember looking at the
Kaleidoscope? I used to cry about it sometimes at night; thinking of
the patterns I had not seen. I thought there was a new pattern
every time you shook it, forever. We had a huge one with very small
bits of glass. They clicked smoothly when the pattern changed and
were very beautifully coloured.... Oh and do you remember those
things—did you have a little paper theatre? They were all looking at
her, not at the little theatre. She wished she had not mentioned it. It
was so sacred and so secret that she had never thought of it or even
mentioned it to herself all these years. She rushed on to the
stereoscope, her eyes still on the little cardboard stage, hearing the
sound of the paper scraping over the little wooden roller as the
printed scenes came round backwards or forwards, and plunged into
descriptions of deep views of the insides of cathedrals in sharp relief
in a clear silver light, mountains, lakes, statuary in clear light out of
doors and came back to the dolls, pressing alone wearily on through
the dying interest of her hearers to discover with sleepy enthusiasm
the wisdom and indifference and independence of Dutch dolls, the
charm of their wooden bodies, the reasons why one never wanted to
put any clothes on them, the dear kind friendliness of dolls with
composition heads—I don’t believe I’ve ever loved anyone in the
world as I loved Daisy—Yes, I know—we had one too; it belonged to
Eve, it was enormous and had real hair and a leather trunk for its
clothes and felt huge and solid when you carried it; but it was as far
away from you as a human being—yes, the rag dolls were simply
funny—I never understand all that talk about the affection for rag
dolls. We used to scream at ours and hold them by the skirts and
see which could bang their heads hardest against the wall. They
were always like a Punch and Judy show. The composition dolls I
mean were painted a soft colour, very roundly moulded heads, with
a shape, just a little hair, put on in soft brown colour, and not staring
eyes but soft bluey grey with an expression; looking at something,
looking at the same thing you looked at yourself—.... Mrs. Philps
yawned and Florrie began making a move—I suppose it’s bed time—
said Miriam. They were all looking sleepy.—Have a glass of claret
Miriam before you go said Mrs. Philps. No thank you, said Miriam
springing up and dancing about the room. Giddy girl, chuckled Mrs.
Philps affectionately. Grace and Florrie fetched dust sheets from the
hall cupboard and began spreading them over the furniture. Miriam
pulled up in front of a large oil-painting over the sofa; its distances
where a meadow stream that was wide in the foreground with a
stone bridge and a mill-wheel and a cottage half hidden under huge
trees, grew narrow and wound on and on through tiny distant fields
until the scene melted in a soft toned mist, held all her early visits to
the Brooms in the Banbury Park days before they had discovered
that she did not like sitting with her back to the fire. She listened
eagerly to the busy sounds of the Brooms. Someone had bolted the
hall door and was scrooping a chair over the tiles to get up and put
out the gas. Dust sheets were still being flountered in the room
behind her. Grace’s arm came round her waist.—I’m so glad you’ve
come sweet she said in her low steady shaken tones—So’m I said
Miriam.—Isn’t that a jolly picture—Yes. It’s an awfully good one you
know. It was one of papa’s—What’s O’Hara doing in the kitchen?—
Taking Grace by the waist Miriam drew into the passage trying to
prance with her down the hall. The little kitchen was obscured by an
enormous clothes-horse draped with airing linen. She’s left a
miserable fire, said Mrs. Philps from behind the clothes-horse—She
hasn’t done the saucepans aunt scolded Florrie from the scullery—
Never mind, we can’t have er down now. It’s neely midnight.

4
Miriam emerged smoothly into the darkness and lay radiant. There
was nothing but the cool sense of life pouring from some inner
source and the deep fresh spaces of the darkness all round her.
Perhaps she had awakened because of her happiness... clear gentle
and soft in a melancholy minor key a little thread of melody sounded
from far away in the night straight into her heart. There was nothing
between her and the sound that had called her so gently up from
her deep sleep. She held in her joy to listen. There was no sadness
in the curious sorrowful little air. It drew her out into the quiet
neighbourhood ... misty darkness along empty roads, plaques of
lamplight here and there on pavements and across house fronts ...
blackness in large gardens and over the bridge and in the gardens at
the backs of the rows of little silent dark houses, a pale lambency
over the canal and reservoirs. Somewhere amongst the little roads a
group of players hooting gently and carefully slow sweet notes as if
to wake no one, playing to no one, out into the darkness. Back out
of fresh darkness came the sweet clear music ... the waits; of
course. She rushed up and out heart foremost, listening, following
the claim of the music into the secret happy interior of the life of
each sleeping form, flowing swiftly on across a tide of remembered
and forgotten incidents in and out amongst the seasons of the years.
It sent her forward to to-morrow sitting her upright in morning light
telling her with shouts that the day was there and she had only to
get up into it ... the little air had paused on a tuneful chord and
ceased ... It was beginning again nearer and clearer. She heard it
carefully through. It was so strange. It came from far back amongst
the generations where everything was different; telling you that they
were the same.... In the way those people were playing, in the way
they made the tune sound in the air neither instrument louder than
the others there was something that knew. Something that
everybody knows.... They show it by the way they do things, no
matter what they say.... Her heart glowed and she stirred. How
rested she was. How fresh the air was. What freshness came from
everything in the room. She stared into the velvety blackness trying
to see the furniture. It was the thick close-drawn curtains that made
the perfect velvety darkness ... Behind the curtains and the Venetian
blinds the windows were open at the top letting in the garden air.
The little square of summer garden showed brilliantly in this darkest
winter blackness. It was more than worth while to be wakened in
the middle of the night at the Brooms. The truth about life was in
them. She imagined herself suddenly shouting in the night. After the
first fright they would understand and would laugh. She yawned
sleepily towards an oncoming tangle of thoughts, pushing them off
and slipping back into unconsciousness.
 5
Miriam picked up the blouse by its shoulders and danced it up and
down in time to the girls’ volleys of affectionate raillery—Did you
sleep well broke in Mrs. Philps sitting briskly up and superciliously
grasping the handle of the large coffee-pot with her small shrivelled
hand. Christmas Day had begun. The time for trying to say suitable
things about the present was over. All the six small hands were
labouring amongst the large things on the table. The blouse hung
real, a blouse, a glorious superfluity in her only just sufficient
wardrobe.—Yes, thank you, I did she said ardently, lowering it to her
knees. The rich strong coffee was flowing into the cups. In a
moment Grace would be handing plates of rashers and Florrie would
have finished extracting the eggs from the boiler. She laid the blouse
carefully on the sofa and heard in among the table sounds the
greetings that had followed her arrival downstairs. The brown and
green landscape caught her eye, old and still, holding all her
knowledge of the Brooms back and back, fresh with another visit to
them. She turned back to the table with a sigh. Someone chuckled.
Perhaps at something that was happening on the table. She glanced
about. The fragrant breakfast had arrived in front of her—Don’t let it
get cold laughed Florrie drawing the mustard-pot from the cruet-
stand and rapping it down before her. There was something that she
had forgotten, some point that was being missed, something that
must be said at this moment to pin down the happiness of
everything. She looked up at Shakespeare and Queen Victoria. It
was going away—Mustard—said Florrie tapping the table with the
mustard-pot.—Did you hear the waits? asked Mrs. Philps with dreary
acidity. That was it. She turned eagerly. Mrs. Philps was sipping her
coffee. Miriam waited politely with the mustard-pot in her hand until
she had put down her cup and then said anxiously, offering it to Mrs.
Philps—they played—Help yourself—laughed Mrs. Philps—a most
lovely curious old-fashioned thing she went on anxiously. Florrie was
watching her narrowly. That was the Mistletoe Bough—bridled Mrs.
Philps accepting the mustard.—Oh that’s The Mistletoe Bough mused
Miriam thrilling. Then Mrs. Philps had heard, and felt the same in the
night. Nothing was missing. Everything that had happened since she
had arrived on the doorstep came freshly back and on into to-day,
flowing over the embarrassment of the parcels. There was nothing
to say; no words that could express it; a tune.... That’s the Mistletoe
Bough ... she said reflectively. Florrie was sitting very upright exactly
opposite, quietly munching, her knife and fork quiet on her plate.
Grace’s small hands and mouth were gravely labouring. She began
swiftly on her own meal, listening for the tune with an intelligent
face. If Florrie would take off her attention she could let her face
become a blank and recover the tune. Impossible to go on until she
had recalled it. She sought for some distracting remark. Grace
spoke. Florrie turned towards her. Miriam radiated agreement and
sipped her hot coffee. Its strong aroma flowed through her senses.
She laughed sociably. Someone else laughed.—Of course they don’t
said Florrie in her most grinding voice and laughed. Two voices
broke out together. Miriam listened to the tones, glancing
intelligence accordingly, umpiring the contest, her mind wandering
blissfully about. Presently there was a silence. Mrs. Philps had
bridled and said something decisive. Miriam guiltily re-read the
remark. She could not think of anything that could be made to follow
it with any show of sincerity and sat feeling large and conspicuous.
Mrs. Philps’ face had grown dark and old. Miriam glanced restively at
her meaning.... Large terrible illnesses, the doctor coming, trouble
amongst families, someone sitting paralyzed; poverty, everything
being different....—D’you like a snowy Christmas, Miriam? asked
Florrie shyly. Miriam looked across. She looked very young, a child
speaking on sufferance, saying the first thing that occurs lest
someone should remark that it was time to go to bed. Hilarious
replies rushed to Miriam’s mind. They would have re-awakened the
laughter and talk, but there would have been resentment in the
widowed figure at the head of the table, the figure that had walked
with arch dignity into the big north London shop and chosen the
blouse. The weight in the air was dreadful—There don’t seem to be
snowy Christmases nowadays she said turning deferentially to her
hostess with her eyes on Florrie’s child’s eyes—Christmas is a very
different thing to what it was breathed Mrs. Philps sitting back with
folded hands from her finished meal.—Oh, I don’t know aunt
corrected Grace anxiously—aren’t you going to have your toast and
marmalade? You lived in the North all your young Christmases. It’s
always colder there. Take some toast aunt——We used to burn Yule
logs flickered Mrs. Philps, plaintively refusing the toast. Miriam
waited imagining the snow on the garden where the frilled shirts
used to hang out to bleach in the dew ... the great flood, the anxiety
in the big houses—Yule logs would look funny in this grate, laughed
Florrie—Oh, I don’t know, pressed Grace.—We had some last year.
Haven’t we got any this year aunt?——I ordered some wood; I don’t
know if it’s come—Miriam could not imagine the Brooms with
burning logs. Yes, she could. They were nearer to burning logs than
anyone she knew. It would be more real here; more like the burning
logs in the Christmas numbers. The glow would shine on to their
faces and they would see into the past. But it was all in the past.
Yule logs and then, no yule logs. Everyone even the Brooms were
being pushed forward into a new cold world. There was no time to
remember—they don’t build grates for wood nowadays, ruled Mrs.
Philps. Who could stop all this coming and crowding of mean little
things? But the wide untroubled leisure of the Brooms breakfast-
table was shut away from the mean little things.... Are you coming
to church Miriam?—Miriam looked across the doomed breakfast-table
and met the watchful eyes. Behind Florrie very upright in her good,
once best stuff dress, two years old in its features and methodically
arrived at morning wear, the fire still blazed its extravagant welcome,
the first of Christmas morning was still in the room. When they had
all busied themselves and gone, it would be gone. She glanced
about to see that everyone had finished and put her elbows on the
table.—Well she said abundantly. There was an expectant relaxing of
attitudes—I should like to go very much. But—Grace fidgeting her
brooch had flung her unrestrained burning affectionate glance—
when I saw Mr. La Trobe climbing into the pulpit—Florrie’s eyes were
downcast and Mrs. Philps was blowing her nose her eyes gazing
wanly out above her handkerchief towards the little curtained bow-
window—Miriam dimpled and glanced sideways at Grace catching
her shy waiting eyes—I should stand up on my seat ... give one loud
shriek—the three laughters broke forth together—and fall gasping to
the ground——Then you’d certainly better not go chuckled Florrie
amidst the general wiping away of tears——I saw the Miss Pernes at
Strudwick’s on Friday; Miss Perne and Miss Jenny——oh, did you
responded Miriam hurriedly. The room lost something of its
completeness. There was a coming and a going, the pressing grey of
an outside world—How are they?——They seemed very well—They
don’t seem to change—Oh; I’m so glad—They asked for you—Oh
——I didn’t say we were expecting you—Oh, it’s such an age——We
always say you’re very busy and hard-worked smiled Grace—Yes,
that’s it....—You didn’t go often even when Miss Haddie was alive—
No; she was awfully good; she used to come down and see me in
the west-end when I first came to town.—How they like the west-
end—Aunt, I don’t blame them.—She used to write to you a lot
didn’t she Miriam?—She used to come and talk to me in a tea-shop
at six-fifteen ... yes she wrote regularly said Miriam irritably—You
were awfully fond of Miss Haddie weren’t you?—Miriam peered into
space struggling with a tangle of statements. Her mind leapt from
incident to incident weaving all into a general impression—so strong
and clear that it gave a sort of desperation to her painful
consciousness that nothing she saw and felt was visible to the three
pairs of differently watchful eyes. Poured chaotically out it would
sound to them like the ravings of insanity. All contradictory, up and
down backwards and forwards, all true. The things they would grasp
here and there would misrepresent herself and the whole picture.
Why would people insist upon talking about things—when nothing
can ever be communicated.... She felt angrily about in the expectant
stillness. She could see their minds so clearly; why wouldn’t they
just look and see hers instead of waiting for some impossible
pronouncement. Yes would be a lie. No would be a lie. Any
statement would be a lie. All statements are lies. I like the Pernes
better than I like you. I like all of you better than the Pernes. I hate
you. I hate the Pernes. I, of course you must know it, hate
everybody. I adore the Pernes so much that I can’t go and see
them. But you come and see us. Yes; but you insist. Then you like
us only as well as you like the Pernes; you like all sorts of people as
well perhaps better than you like us. I have nothing to do with
anyone. You shall not group me anywhere. I am everywhere. Let the
day go on. Don’t sit there worrying me to death....—They always
send you their love and say you are to go and see them—Oh yes, I
must go; some time——They are wonderfully fond of their girls....
It’s one of the greatest pleasures of their lives keeping up with the
old girls—Fatigue was returning upon Miriam; her face flushed and
her hands were large and cold. She drew them down on to her
unowned knees. A mild yes would bring the sitting to an end.—But
you see I’m not an old girl she said impatiently. No one spoke.
Florrie’s mind was darkly moving towards the things of the day.
Perhaps Mrs. Philps and Florrie had been thinking of them for some
minutes.—You know it does make a difference she pursued,
obsequiously collecting attention,—when people are your employers.
You can never feel the same—Everyone hovered,—and Mrs. Philps
smiled in triumphant curiosity.—I shouldn’t have thought it made any
difference to you Miriam said Florrie flushing heavily.—I think I know
what Miriam means said Grace gently radiating—I always feel a pupil
with them much as I like them—Grace, d’you know you’re my pupil
said Miriam leaping out into laughter.—I can see Grace—she drove
on carrying them all with her, ignoring the swift eyes upon the dim
things settling heavily down upon her heart—gazing out of the
window in the little room where I was supposed to be holding a
German class—Yes I know Miriam darling, but now you know me you
know I could never be any good at languages——You’re my pupil
——It seems absurd to think of you as a teacher now we know you
chuckled Florrie.—Aren’t you glad it’s over, Miriam?——I loved the
teaching. I’ve never left off longing to go back to school myself
yawned Miriam absently.—You won’t get much sympathy out of
Florrie——I was a perfect fool beamed Florrie. Everyone laughed.—I
often think now—chuckled Florrie rosy and tearful—when I open the
front door to go out how glad I am there’s no more school—Miriam
looked across laughing affectionately.—Why did you like your school
so much Miriam?—I didn’t like it except now and again terrifically in
flashes. I didn’t know what it was. I hadn’t seen other schools. I
didn’t know what we were doing—It wasn’t—a—a genteel school for
young ladies, there was nothing of that in it—You never know when
you’re happy reproved Mrs. Philps—Oh, I don’t know aunt, I think
you do appealed Grace, her eyes full of shy championship.—I’m very
happy, thank you,—aren’t we all happy dear brethren? chirped
Miriam towards the cruet-stand.—Silly children——Now aunt you
know you are. You know you enjoy life tremendously.—Of course I
do cried Mrs. Philps beaming and bridling. In a devout low tone she
added—it’s the little simple things that make you happy; the things
that happen every day—For a moment there was nothing but the
sound of the fire flickering in the beamy air.—Hadn’t we better have
her in aunt, muttered Grace? Florrie got up briskly and rang the bell.

6
They all went busily upstairs. Even Grace did not linger.—Let me
come and help make my bed said Miriam going with her to the door
—No, you’re to rest——I don’t want to rest——Then you can run
round the room—She turned back towards the silent disarray. Busy
sounds came from upstairs. A hurried low reproving voice emerged
on to the landing ...—and light the drawing-room fire as soon as
you’ve finished clearing and when the postman comes leave the
letters in the box—Christine came downstairs without answering. In
a moment she would be coming in. Moving away from the attraction
of the blouse Miriam wandered to the fireside. Her eyes turned
towards the chair in the corner half-hidden by the large armchair.
There they were, on the top of the pile of newspapers and
magazines. Dare’s Annual lay uppermost its cover bright with holly.
Her hands went out ... to look at them now would be to anticipate
the afternoon. But there would be at least two Windsors that she
had not seen. She drew one out and stood turning over the leaves.
It would be impossible to look round and say a Happy Christmas and
then go on reading, and just as bad to stop reading and not say
anything more. She planted herself in the middle of the hearthrug
with her face to the room. Why should she stand advantageously
there while Christine unwillingly laboured? Why should Christine be
pleased to be spoken to? She thought a happy Christmas in several
different voices. They all sounded insulting. Christine was still
making noises in the kitchen. There was time to escape. The
drawing-room door would be bolted and that meant getting one of
the hall chairs and telling the whole house of an extraordinary
impulse. Upstairs her bed would still be being made or her room
dusted. She drew up the little stool and sat dejectedly, close over the
fire as if with a heavy cold in her head and anxiously deep in the
pages of the magazine. Perhaps Christine would think she did not
hear her come in ... she guessed the story from the illustrations and
dropped into the text half-way through the narrative. No woman
who did typewriting from morning till night and lived in a poor
lodging could look like that ... perhaps some did ... perhaps that was
how clerks ought to look ... she skimmed on; moving automatically
to make room for boots that were being put down in the fender;
ready to speak in a moment if whoever it was did not say anything;
the figure turned to the table. It was Christine. If she blew her nose
and coughed Christine would know she knew she was there. She
turned a page swiftly and wrapped herself deeply in the next. When
Christine had gone away with a trayful she resumed her place on the
hearthrug ready to see her for the first time when she came in again
and catch her eye and say Good morning, I wish you a happy
Christmas. Christine came shapelessly in and began collecting the
remaining things with sullen hands. Her face was closed and
expressionless and her eyes downcast. Miriam’s eyes followed it,
waiting for the eyes to lift, her lips powerless. It was too late to say
good morning. Sadness came growing in the room. Her thoughts
went homelessly to and fro between her various world and the
lumpy figure moving sullenly along the edge of an unknown life.
Stepping observantly in through the half-open door with a duster
bunched carefully in her hand came Florrie. Miriam flung out a
greeting that swept round Christine and out into a shining world. It
brought Florrie to her side, shy and eager. Christine taking her final
departure looked up. Miriam flushed through her laughter, steadily
meeting the expressionless brown glitter of Christine’s eyes. Hullo
Madam O’Hara she defended, collecting herself for the question that
would follow Florrie’s encirclement of her waist—Hullo Little Miriam;
you are happy ground out Florrie shyly—are you rested?—Yes said
Miriam formally, I think I am—They turned, Florrie withdrawing her
arm, and stood looking into the fire—Oooch isn’t it cold said Grace
from the doorway—have you done the hall chairs?—No, I came in
here to get warm first—It is cold said Grace coming to the hearthrug
—are you warm Miriam darling?—I’m so warm that I think I ought to
run upstairs for a constitutional and scrub my teeth said Miriam
briskly, preparing to follow Florrie from the room.—Grace dropped
her duster and put her arms upon her, raising an anxious pleading
face—stay here while I dust sweetheart. You can scrub your teeth
when we’re gone. Dear pink-face. How are you my sweet? Are you
rested? she asked between gentle kisses dabbed here and there—
Never berrer old chap. I tell you never berrer—Grace laughed gently
into her face and stood holding her, smiling her anxious pleading
solicitous smile.—I tell you never berrer repeated Miriam. Dear sweet
pink face smiled Grace and turned carefully away to her dusting.
Miriam sank into an armchair, listening to the soft smooth flurring of
the duster over the highly polished surfaces—Well she asked
presently—how are things in general?—Grace rose from her knees
and carefully shut the door. She came back with fear darkening the
velvet lustre of her eyes—Oh I don’t know Miriam dear she
murmured kneeling on the hearthrug near Miriam’s knees and
holding her hands out towards the fire. It’s all over thought Miriam,
she’s failed.—I’ve got ever so many things to tell you. I want to ask
your advice—Remember I’ve never even seen him argued Miriam
automatically, figuring the surroundedness, the sudden realization
and fear, the recapturing of liberty, the hidden polite determined
retreat.—Oh, but you always understand. Wait till we can talk she
sighed rising from her knees, and kissing Miriam’s forehead. It was
all over. Grace was clinging to some “reasonable” explanation of
some final thing. She cast about in her mind for something from her
own scattered circumstances to feed their talk when it should come.
She would have to induce Grace to turn away and go on ... the end
of the long history of faithfully remembered details would be a relief
... the delicate depths of their intercourse would come back ... its
reach backwards and forwards; and yet without anything in the
background ... it seemed as if always something were needed in the
background to give the full glow to every day ... she must be made
to see the real face of the circumstance and then to know and to
feel that she was not forlorn; that the glow was there ... first to
brush away the delusion ruthlessly ... and then let the glow come
back, begin to come back, from another source.

7
Left alone with silence all along the street, Christine inaudible in the
kitchen, dead silence in the house, Miriam gathered up her blouse
and ran upstairs. As she passed through the changing lights of the
passage, up the little dark staircase past the turn that led to the little
lavatory and the little bathroom and was bright in the light of a small
uncurtained lattice, on up the four stairs that brought her to the
landing where the opposing bedroom doors flooded their light along
the strip of green carpet between the polished balustrade and the
high polished glass-doored bookcase, scenes from the future,
moving in boundless backgrounds came streaming unsummoned
into her mind, making her surroundings suddenly unfamiliar ... the
past would come again.... Inside her room—tidied until nothing was
visible but the permanent shining gleaming furniture and ornaments;
only the large box of matches on the corner of the mantlepiece
betraying the movement of separate days, telling her of nights of
arrival, the lighting of the gas, the sudden light in the frosted globe
preluding freedom and rest, bringing the beginning of rest with the
gleam of the fresh quiet room—she found the nearer past, her years
of London work set in the air, framed and contemplable like the
pictures on the wall, and beside them the early golden years in
snatches, chosen pictures from here and there, communicated, and
stored in the loyal memory of the Brooms. Leaping in among these
live days came to-day ... the blouse belonged to the year that was
waiting far off, invisible behind the high wall of Christmas. She
dropped it on the bed and ran downstairs to the little drawing-room.
The fire had not yet conquered the mustiness of the air. The room
was full of strange dim lights coming in through the stained glass
door of the little greenhouse. She pushed open the glass door
turning the light to a soft green and sat sociably down in a low chair
her hands clasped upon her knees, topics racing through her mind in
a voice thrilling with stored up laughter. In her ears was the rush of
spring rain on the garden foliage, and presently a voice saying
where are we going this summer?... By the time they came back she
would be too happy to speak. Better perhaps to go out into the
maze of little streets and in wearying of them be glad to come back.
As she moved to the door she saw the garden in late summer
fulness, the holidays over, their heights gleaming through long talks
on the seat at the end of the garden, the answering glow of the
great blossoms of purple clematis hiding the north London masonry
of the little conservatory, the great spaces of autumn opening out
and out running down rich with happenings to where the high wall
of Christmas again rose and shut out the future. She ran busily
upstairs casting away sight and hearing and hurried thoughtlessly
into her outdoor things and out into the street. She wandered along
the little roads turning and turning until she came to a broad open
thoroughfare lined with high grey houses standing back behind
colourless railed-in gardens. Trams jingled up and down the centre
of the road bearing the names of unfamiliar parts of London. People
were standing about on the terminal islands and getting in and out
of the trams. She had come too far. Here was the wilderness, the
undissembling soul of north London, its harsh unvarying all-
embracing oblivion.... Innumerable impressions gathered on walks
with the schoolgirls or in lonely wanderings; the unveiled motives
and feelings of people she had passed in the streets, the expression
of noses and shoulders, the indefinable uniformity, of bearing and
purpose and vision, crowded in on her, oppressing and darkening the
crisp light air. She fought against them, rallying to the sense of the
day. It was Christmas Day for them all. They were keeping Christmas
in their homes, carrying it out into the streets, going about with
parcels, greeting each other in their harsh ironic voices. Long ago
she had passed out of their world for ever, carrying it forward, a
wound in her consciousness unhealed, but powerless to re-inflict
itself, powerless to spread into her life. They and their world were
still there, unchanged. But they could never touch her again,
ensconced in her wealth. It did not matter now that they went their
way just in the way they went their way. To hate them for past
suffering now that they were banished and powerless was to allow
them to spoil her day.... They were even a possession, a curious
thing apart, unknown to anyone in her London life ... dear north
Londoners. She paused a moment, looking boldly across at the
figures moving on the islands. After all they did not know that it was
cold and desolate and harsh and dreadful to be going about on
Christmas Day in a place that looked as this place looked, in trams.
They did not know what was wrong with their clothes and their
bearing and their way of looking at things. That was what was so
terrible though. What could teach them? There were so many. They
lived and died in amongst each other. What could change them?...
Her face felt drawn and weariness was coming upon her limbs ... a
group was approaching her along the wide pavement, laughing and
talking, a blatter of animated voices; she turned briskly for the relief
of meeting and passing close to them ... too near, too near ...
prosperity and kindliness, prosperous fresh laughing faces, easily
bought clothes, the manner of the large noisy house and large
secure income, free movement in an accessible world, all turned to
dangerous weapons in wrong hands by the unfinished, insensitive
mouths, the ugly slur in the speech, the shapelessness of bearing,
the naïvely visible thoughts, circumscribed by business, the
illustrated monthly magazines, the summer month at the seaside;
their lives were exactly like their way of walking down the street, a
confident blind trampling. Speech was not needed to reveal their
certainties; they shed certainty from every angle of their unfinished
persons. Certainty about everything. Incredulous contempt for all
uncertainty. Impatient contempt for all who could not stand up for
themselves. Cheerful uncritical affection for each other. And for all
who were living or trying to live just as they did ... The little bushes
of variegated laurel grouped in railed-off oblongs along the gravelled
pathway between the two wide strips of pavement, drew her gaze.
They shone crisply, their yellow and green enamel washed clean by
yesterday’s rain. She hurried along feeling out towards them through
downcast eyes. They glinted back at her unsunned by the sunlight,
rootless sapless surfaces set in repellent clay, spread out in
meaningless air. To and fro her eyes slid upon the varnished leaves
... she saw them in a park set in amongst massed dark evergreens,
gleaming out through afternoon mist, keeping the last of the light as
the people drifted away leaving the slopes and vistas clear ... grey
avenues and dewy slopes drifted before her in the faint light of
dawn, the grey growing pale and paler; the dew turned to a scatter
of jewels and the sky soared up high above the growing shimmer of
sunlit green and gold. Isolated morning figures hurried across the
park, aware of its morning freshness, seeing it as their own secret
garden, part of their secret day....
From the sunlit white facade of a large London house the laurels
looked down through a white stone-pillared balustrade. They
appeared coming suddenly with the light of a street lamp, clumped
safely behind the railings of a Bloomsbury square ... the opening of a
side street led her back into the maze of little roads. The protective
presence of the little house was there and she sauntered happily
along through channels of sheltered sunlit silence.... What was she
doing here? At Christmas-time one should be where one belonged.
Gathering and searching about her came the claims of the firesides
that had lain open to her choice, drawing her back into the old life,
the only life known to those who sat round them. They looked out
from that life, seeing hers as hardship and gloom, pitying her,
turning blind eyes unwillingly towards her attempts to unveil and
make it known to them. She saw herself relinquishing efforts,
putting on a desperate animation, professing interests and opinions
and talking as people talk, while they watched her with eyes that
saw nothing but a pitiful attempt to hide an awful fate, lonely
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