Kipps by H. G. Wells (distant reading txt) 📕

find Helen still standing, beautifully inaccessible, behind the tea things. He closed the door and advanced toward her with his arms akimbo and his hands upon his coat skirts. Then, feeling angular, he moved his right hand to his moustache. Anyhow, he was dressed all right. Somewhere at the back of his mind, dim and mingled with doubt and surprise, appeared the perception that he felt now quite differently towards her, that something between them had been blown from Lympne Keep to the four winds of heaven.⁠ ⁠…

She regarded him with an eye of critical proprietorship.

“Mother has been making up to you,” she said, smiling slightly.

She added, “It was nice of you to come around to see her.”

They stood through a brief pause, as though each had expected something different in the other and was a little perplexed at its not being there. Kipps found he was at the corner of the brown covered table, and he picked up a little flexible book that lay upon it to occupy his mind.

“I bought you a ring today,” he said, bending the book and speaking for the sake of saying something, and then he was moved to genuine speech. “You know,” he said, “I can’t ’ardly believe it.”

Her face relaxed slightly again. “No?” she said, and may have breathed, “Nor I.”

“No,” he went on. “It’s as though everything ’ad changed. More even than when I got my money. ’Ere we are going to marry. It’s like being someone else. What I feel is⁠—”

He turned a flushed and earnest face to her. He seemed to come alive to her with one natural gesture. “I don’t know things. I’m not good enough. I’m not refined. The more you’ll see of me the more you’ll find me out.”

“But I’m going to help you.”

“You’ll ’ave to ’elp me a fearful lot.”

She walked to the window, glanced out of it, made up her mind, turned and came towards him, with her hands clasped behind her back.

“All these things that trouble you are very little things. If you don’t mind⁠—if you will let me tell you things⁠—”

“I wish you would.”

“Then I will.”

“They’re little things to you, but they aren’t to me.”

“It all depends, if you don’t mind being told.”

“By you?”

“I don’t expect you to be told by strangers.”

“Oo!” said Kipps, expressing much.

“You know, there are just a few little things. For instance, you know, you are careless with your pronunciation.⁠ ⁠… You don’t mind my telling you?”

“I like it,” said Kipps.

“There’s aitches.”

“I know,” said Kipps, and then, endorsingly, “I been told. Fact is, I know a chap, a Nacter, he’s told me. He’s told me, and he’s going to give me a lesso nor so.”

“I’m glad of that. It only requires a little care.”

“Of course. On the stage they got to look out. They take regular lessons.”

“Of course,” said Helen, a little absently.

“I dessay I shall soon get into it,” said Kipps.

“And then there’s dress,” said Helen, taking up her thread again.

Kipps became pink, but he remained respectfully attentive.

“You don’t mind?” she said.

“Oo, no.”

“You mustn’t be too⁠—too dressy. It’s possible to be over-conventional, over-elaborate. It makes you look like a shop⁠—like a common, well-off person. There’s a sort of easiness that is better. A real gentleman looks right, without looking as though he had tried to be right.”

“Jest as though ’e’d put on what came first?” said the pupil, in a faded voice.

“Not exactly that, but a sort of ease.”

Kipps nodded his head intelligently. In his heart he was kicking his silk hat about the room in an ecstasy of disappointment.

“And you must accustom yourself to be more at your ease when you are with people,” said Helen. “You’ve only got to forget yourself a little and not be anxious⁠—”

“I’ll try,” said Kipps, looking rather hard at the teapot. “I’ll do my best to try.”

“I know you will,” she said, and laid a hand for an instant upon his shoulder and withdrew it.

He did not perceive her caress. “One has to learn,” he said. His attention was distracted by the strenuous efforts that were going on in the back of his head to translate, “I say, didn’t you ought to name the day?” into easy as well as elegant English, a struggle that was still undecided when the time came for them to part.⁠ ⁠…

He sat for a long time at the open window of his sitting-room with an intent face, recapitulating that interview. His eyes rested at last almost reproachfully on the silk hat beside him. “ ’Ow is one to know?” he asked. His attention was caught by a rubbed place in the nap, and, still thoughtful, he rolled up his handkerchief skilfully into a soft ball and began to smooth this down.

His expression changed slowly.

“ ’Ow the Juice is one to know?” he said, putting down the hat with some emphasis.

He rose up, went across the room to the sideboard, and, standing there, opened and began to read Manners and Rules.

IV The Bicycle Manufacturer

So Kipps embarked upon his engagement, steeled himself to the high enterprise of marrying above his breeding. The next morning found him dressing with a certain quiet severity of movement, and it seemed to his landlady’s housemaid that he was unusually dignified at breakfast. He meditated profoundly over his kipper and his kidney and bacon. He was going to New Romney to tell the old people what had happened and where he stood. And the love of Helen had also given him courage to do what Buggins had once suggested to him as a thing he would do were he in Kipps’ place, and that was to hire a motor car for the afternoon. He had an early cold lunch, and then, with an air of quiet resolution, assumed a cap and coat he had purchased to this end, and thus equipped strolled around, blowing slightly, to the motor shop. The transaction was unexpectedly easy, and within the hour Kipps, spectacled and wrapped about, was tootling through Dymchurch.

They came to a stop