‘I am not gone.’
‘Then go.’
‘I know the girls at your office, Miss Vaughan, I’ve seen them there.’
‘Go.’
She did not expect the hushed whisper, but she heard it.
‘Some of the girls are young, Miss Vaughan, and some are threatening to be older, and there is one that must often think of her own pre - - - car - - -ious age.’
‘I am not listening.’
‘You are listening. You are always listening, for you have the ears of a hare, even in your dreams, you are listening.’
He came erect, he stiffened. The silence seemed endless.
‘Surely you are not still there?’
‘If only I could open the little door in your head, Miss Vaughan. Ah! I’d know then what it is that keeps your head so high, so far away. Your bed is cold, Miss Vaughan,’ he paused, ‘Po — lar.’
When the next titter followed he let his hat fall from his hand.
‘I really thought you’d gone,’ and she spoke so quietly that he had to strain for a sense of the words.
He heard movements in the room, and he still waited, listened.
‘Once, a bishop said to me, Thomas, I see the church triumphant in your face, but in your own, Miss Vaughan, I sea an ocean of loss.’
The reply was prompt, wholly unexpected.
‘Is there no end?’
‘There is no end.’
‘Mervyn!’
The rude shout, the abrupt hammering on his study door struck him like a blow from a fist, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes, pawing at the collection of notes in front of him.
‘Mervyn!’
And angrily he shouted back, ‘Who is that?’
The door burst open, and there she was, his sister, Margiad.
‘I’ve been knocking this past minute, what on earth is the matter with you, Mervyn?’
She stood on the threshold, stared at him. His hand passed slowly across his brow, the words fell like stones.
‘I must have been dreaming,’ he said.
‘D’you know how long you’ve been sat there?’ she asked.
‘I - - - don’t - - - know.’
‘Is something wrong, Mervyn?’
‘Nothing is wrong.’
The tiredness in his voice brought her closer.
‘What is happening to you, Mervyn? Tell me. Something is wrong.’
And the voice, now hollow, said, ‘Nothing is wrong.’
‘I .…’
‘Nothing is wrong, Margiad. Dreaming, that’s all. I told you.’
‘There’s some things you never tell me, and I am your sister.’
‘I know you’re my sister, and I know you’re good to me,’ he replied aggressively.
‘Then don’t be long,’ she snapped, turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.
Thomas sighed, picked up the notes from the desk, pored over them.
‘Must’ve nodded off, yes, that’s it, dreaming, strange, stra - - - ’ And the man with ‘the chariot in his head’ began rubbing his eyes again, staring about him, then his hands fell heavily to his lap, and he kneaded them and thought, ‘Dreaming. That’s all.’
