to sit down and
eat and drink, and they were obliged to do so by the invisible
volitional force of which Mr. Haim was the unwilling channel. Mr. Haim,
highly self-conscious, began to pour out the tea. Mr. Prince, highly
self-conscious, suggested that he should make himself useful by
distributing the crumpets while they were hot. George, highly
selfconscious, accepted a crumpet. Mr. Prince chatted; George responded
in a brave worldly fashion; Mr. Haim said 'Yes,' 'Ye-es,' very absently.

And then Mrs. Haim appeared smiling in the doorway. "Ah!" breathed
everybody, assuaged. "Ah!" Mr. Haim moved from in front of the tea-tray
to the next seat. Mrs. Haim was perhaps somewhat pale, but she gave a
sincere, positive assurance that she was perfectly well again.
Reassurance spread throughout the company. Forebodings vanished; hearts
lightened; gladness reigned; the excellence of crumpets became
apparent. And all this swift, wonderful change was brought about by the
simple entry of the woman. But beneath the genuine relief and
satisfaction of the men there stirred vaguely the thought of the
mysteriousness of women, of the entire female sex. Mrs. Haim, charwoman,
was just as mysterious as any other woman. As for George, despite the
exhilaration which he could feel rising in him effortless and unsought,
he was preoccupied by more than women's mysteriousness; the conception
of destiny lingered and faintly troubled him. It was as though he had
been walking on a clear path through a vast and empty and safe forest,
and the eyes of a tiger had gleamed for an instant in the bush and gone.
Not a real tiger! And if a real tiger, then a tiger that would never
recur, and the only tiger in the forest!... Yet the entire forest was
transformed.

Mrs. Haim was wearing the blue sateen. It was a dress unsuited to her
because it emphasized her large bulk; but it was her best dress; it
shone and glittered; it imposed. Her duty was to wear it on that Sunday
afternoon. She was shy, without being self-conscious. To preside over a
society consisting of young bloods, etchers of European renown, and
pillars of the architectural profession was an ordeal for her. She did
not pretend that it was not an ordeal. She did not pretend that the
occasion was not extraordinary. She was quite natural in her calm
confusion. She was not even proud, being perhaps utterly incapable of
social pride. Her husband was proud for her. He looked at her earnestly,
wistfully.