motor drew up at Howards End, and Helen, looking very pale, ran out to
meet her aunt.

"Aunt Juley, I have just had a telegram from Margaret; I--I meant to
stop your coming. It isn't--it's over."

The climax was too much for Mrs. Munt. She burst into tears.

"Aunt Juley dear, don't. Don't let them know I've been so silly. It
wasn't anything. Do bear up for my sake."

"Paul," cried Charles Wilcox, pulling his gloves off.

"Don't let them know. They are never to know."

"Oh, my darling Helen--"

"Paul! Paul!"

A very young man came out of the house.

"Paul, is there any truth in this?"

"I didn't--I don't--"

"Yes or no, man; plain question, plain answer. Did or didn't Miss
Schlegel--"

"Charles, dear," said a voice from the garden. "Charles, dear Charles,
one doesn't ask plain questions. There aren't such things."

They were all silent. It was Mrs. Wilcox.

She approached just as Helen's letter had described her, trailing
noiselessly over the lawn, and there was actually a wisp of hay in her
hands. She seemed to belong not to the young people and their motor, but
to the house, and to the tree that overshadowed it. One knew that she
worshipped the past, and that the instinctive wisdom the past can alone
bestow had descended upon her--that wisdom to which we give the clumsy
name of aristocracy. High born she might not be. But assuredly she cared
about her ancestors, and let them help her. When she saw Charles angry,
Paul frightened, and Mrs. Munt in tears, she heard her ancestors say,
"Separate those human beings who will hurt each other most. The rest
can wait." So she did not ask questions. Still less did she pretend that
nothing had happened, as a competent society hostess would have done.
She said: "Miss Schlegel, would you take your aunt up to your room or
to my room, whichever you think best. Paul, do find Evie, and tell her
lunch for six, but I'm not sure whether we shall all be downstairs for
it." And when they had obeyed her, she turned to her elder son, who
still stood in the throbbing, stinking car, and smiled at him with
tenderness, and without saying a word, turned away from him towards her
flowers.

"Mother," he called, "are you aware that Paul has been playing the fool
again?"

"It is all right, dear. They have broken off the engagement."

"Engagement--!"

"They do not love any longer, if you prefer it put that way," said Mrs.
Wilcox, stooping down to smell a rose.

CHAPTER IV