Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster (best free ereader TXT) 📕

and flung her away from him. Now she had climbed up to the bowl and was trying to hook out the fish. He got up, drove her off, and finding a large glass stopper by the bowl, entirely plugged up the aperture with it.

“But may not the fish die?” said Miss Abbott. “They have no air.”

“Fish live on water, not on air,” he replied in a knowing voice, and sat down. Apparently he was at his ease again, for he took to spitting on the floor. Philip glanced at Lilia but did not detect her wincing. She talked bravely till the end of the disgusting meal, and then got up saying, “Well, Philip, I am sure you are ready for by-bye. We shall meet at twelve o’clock lunch tomorrow, if we don’t meet before. They give us caffè later in our rooms.”

It was a little too impudent. Philip replied, “I should like to see you now, please, in my room, as I have come all the way on business.” He heard Miss Abbott gasp. Signor Carella, who was lighting a rank cigar, had not understood.

It was as he expected. When he was alone with Lilia he lost all nervousness. The remembrance of his long intellectual supremacy strengthened him, and he began volubly⁠—

“My dear Lilia, don’t let’s have a scene. Before I arrived I thought I might have to question you. It is unnecessary. I know everything. Miss Abbott has told me a certain amount, and the rest I see for myself.”

“See for yourself?” she exclaimed, and he remembered afterwards that she had flushed crimson.

“That he is probably a ruffian and certainly a cad.”

“There are no cads in Italy,” she said quickly.

He was taken aback. It was one of his own remarks. And she further upset him by adding, “He is the son of a dentist. Why not?”

“Thank you for the information. I know everything, as I told you before. I am also aware of the social position of an Italian who pulls teeth in a minute provincial town.”

He was not aware of it, but he ventured to conclude that it was pretty low. Nor did Lilia contradict him. But she was sharp enough to say, “Indeed, Philip, you surprise me. I understood you went in for equality and so on.”

“And I understood that Signor Carella was a member of the Italian nobility.”

“Well, we put it like that in the telegram so as not to shock dear Mrs. Herriton. But it is true. He is a younger branch. Of course families ramify⁠—just as in yours there is your cousin Joseph.” She adroitly picked out the only undesirable member of the Herriton clan. “Gino’s father is courtesy itself, and rising rapidly in his profession. This very month he leaves Monteriano, and sets up at Poggibonsi. And for my own poor part, I think what people are is what matters, but I don’t suppose you’ll agree. And I should like you to know that Gino’s uncle is a priest⁠—the same as a clergyman at home.”

Philip was aware of the social position of an Italian priest, and said so much about it that Lilia interrupted him with, “Well, his cousin’s a lawyer at Rome.”

“What kind of ‘lawyer’?”

“Why, a lawyer just like you are⁠—except that he has lots to do and can never get away.”

The remark hurt more than he cared to show. He changed his method, and in a gentle, conciliating tone delivered the following speech:⁠—

“The whole thing is like a bad dream⁠—so bad that it cannot go on. If there was one redeeming feature about the man I might be uneasy. As it is I can trust to time. For the moment, Lilia, he has taken you in, but you will find him out soon. It is not possible that you, a lady, accustomed to ladies and gentlemen, will tolerate a man whose position is⁠—well, not equal to the son of the servants’ dentist in Coronation Place. I am not blaming you now. But I blame the glamour of Italy⁠—I have felt it myself, you know⁠—and I greatly blame Miss Abbott.”

“Caroline! Why blame her? What’s all this to do with Caroline?”

“Because we expected her to⁠—” He saw that the answer would involve him in difficulties, and, waving his hand, continued, “So I am confident, and you in your heart agree, that this engagement will not last. Think of your life at home⁠—think of Irma! And I’ll also say think of us; for you know, Lilia, that we count you more than a relation. I should feel I was losing my own sister if you did this, and my mother would lose a daughter.”

She seemed touched at last, for she turned away her face and said, “I can’t break it off now!”

“Poor Lilia,” said he, genuinely moved. “I know it may be painful. But I have come to rescue you, and, bookworm though I may be, I am not frightened to stand up to a bully. He’s merely an insolent boy. He thinks he can keep you to your word by threats. He will be different when he sees he has a man to deal with.”

What follows should be prefaced with some simile⁠—the simile of a powder mine, a thunderbolt, an earthquake⁠—for it blew Philip up in the air and flattened him on the ground and swallowed him up in the depths. Lilia turned on her gallant defender and said⁠—

“For once in my life I’ll thank you to leave me alone. I’ll thank your mother too. For twelve years you’ve trained me and tortured me, and I’ll stand it no more. Do you think I’m a fool? Do you think I never felt? Ah! when I came to your house a poor young bride, how you all looked me over⁠—never a kind word⁠—and discussed me, and thought I might just do; and your mother corrected me, and your sister snubbed me, and you said funny things about me to show how clever you were! And when Charles died I was still to run