ngularly artless. "Why!--we'd
marry," he said. "And all that sort of thing."

"Letty has married--and all that sort of thing," said Cecily, fixing her
eye on him very firmly because she was colouring brightly. "And it
doesn't leave Letty very much--forrader."

"Well now, they have a good time, don't they? I'd have thought they have
a lovely time!"

"They've had a lovely time. And Teddy is the dearest husband. And they
have a sweet little house and a most amusing baby. And they play hockey
every Sunday. And Teddy does his work. And every week is like every
other week. It is just heavenly. Just always the same heavenly. Every
Sunday there is a fresh week of heavenly beginning. And this, you see,
isn't heaven; it is earth. And they don't know it but they are getting
bored. I have been watching them, and they are getting dreadfully bored.
It's heart-breaking to watch, because they are almost my dearest people.
Teddy used to be making perpetual jokes about the house and the baby and
his work and Letty, and now--he's made all the possible jokes. It's only
now and then he gets a fresh one. It's like spring flowers and
then--summer. And Letty sits about and doesn't sing. They want something
new to happen.... And there's Mr. and Mrs. Britling. They love each
other. Much more than Mrs. Britling dreams, or Mr. Britling for the
matter of that. Once upon a time things were heavenly for them too, I
suppose. Until suddenly it began to happen to them that nothing new ever
happened...."

"Well," said Mr. Direck, "people can travel."

"But that isn't _real_ happening," said Cecily.

"It keeps one interested."

"But real happening is doing something."

"You come back to that," said Mr. Direck. "I never met any one before
who'd quite got that spirit as you have it. I wouldn't alter it. It's
part of you. It's part of this place. It's what Mr. Britling always
seems to be saying and never quite knowing he's said it. It's just as
though all the things that are going on weren't the things that ought to
be going on--but something else quite different. Somehow one falls into
it. It's as if your daily life didn't matter, as if politics didn't
matter, as if the King and the social round and business and all those
things weren't anything really, and as though you felt there was
something else--out of sight--round the corner--that you ought to be
getting at. Well, I admit, that's got hold of me too. And it's all mixed
up with my idea of you