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THE LOST GIRL
“Of course – ” Mrs. Tuke watched Alvina with big, dark,
slow eyes. Then she dragged herself to her feet. Alvina helped
her into bed.
“Do ask him to come up for a minute,” Effi e said. “We’ll
give him a glass of Tommy’s famous port. Do let me see him.
Yes do!” She stretched out her long white arm to Alvina, with
sudden imploring.
Alvina laughed, and turned doubtfully away.
The night was silent outside. But she found Ciccio leaning
against a gate-pillar. He started up.
“Allaye!” he said.
“Will you come in for a moment? I can’t leave Mrs. Tuke.”
Ciccio obediently followed Alvina into the house and up
the stairs, without a word. He was ushered into the bedroom.
He drew back when he saw Effi e in the bed, sitting with her
long plaits and her dark eyes, and the subtle-seeming smile at
the corners of her mouth.
“Do come in!” she said. “I want to thank you for the music.
Nurse says it was for her, but I enjoyed it also. Would you tell
me the words? I think it’s a wonderful song.”
Ciccio hung back against the door, his head dropped, and
the shy, suspicious, faintly malicious smile on his face.
“Have a glass of port, do!” said Effi e. “Nurse, give us all one.
I should like one too. And a biscuit.” Again she stretched out
her long white arm from the sudden blue lining of her wrap,
suddenly, as if taken with the desire. Ciccio shifted on his feet,
watching Alvina pour out the port.
He swallowed his in one swallow, and put aside his glass.
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DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
“Have some more!” said Effi e, watching over the top of her
glass.
He smiled faintly, stupidly, and shook his head.
“Won’t you? Now tell me the words of the song – ”
He looked at her from out of the dusky hollows of his brow,
and did not answer. The faint, stupid half-smile, half-sneer was
on his lips. “Won’t you tell them me? I understood one line – ”
Ciccio smiled more pronouncedly as he watched her, but
did not speak.
“I understood one line,” said Effi e, making big eyes at him.
“Ma non me lasciare – Don’t leave me! There, isn’t that it?”
He smiled, stirred on his feet, and nodded.
“Don’t leave me! There, I knew it was that. Why don’t you
want Nurse to leave you? Do you want her to be with you ev-
ery minute?”
He smiled a little contemptuously, awkwardly, and turned
aside his face, glancing at Alvina. Effi e’s watchful eyes caught
the glance. It was swift, and full of the terrible yearning which
so horrifi ed her.
At the same moment a spasm crossed her face, her expression went blank.
“Shall we go down?” said Alvina to Ciccio.
He turned immediately, with his cap in his hand, and followed. In the hall he pricked up his ears as he took the mandoline from the chest. He could hear the stifl ed cries and exclamations from Mrs. Tuke. At the same moment the door of
the study opened, and the musician, a burly fellow with troubled hair, came out.
“Is that Mrs. Tuke?” he snapped anxiously.
422
THE LOST GIRL
“Yes. The pains have begun,” said Alvina.
“Oh God! And have you left her!” He was quite irascible.
“Only for a minute,” said Alvina.
But with a Pf! of angry indignation, he was climbing the
stairs. “She is going to have a child,” said Alvina to Ciccio.
“I shall have to go back to her.” And she held out her hand.
He did not take her hand, but looked down into her face
with the same slightly distorted look of overwhelming yearning, yearning heavy and unbearable, in which he was carried
towards her as on a fl ood.
“Allaye!” he said, with a faint lift of the lip that showed his
teeth, like a pained animal: a curious sort of smile. He could
not go away. “I shall have to go back to her,” she said.
“Shall you come with me to Italy, Allaye?”
“Yes. Where is Madame?”
“Gone! Gigi – all gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Gone back to France – called up.”
“And Madame and Louis and Max?”
“Switzerland.”
He stood helplessly looking at her.
“Well, I must go,” she said.
He watched her with his yellow eyes, from under his long
black lashes, like some chained animal, haunted by doom. She
turned and left him standing.
She found Mrs. Tuke wildly clutching the edge of the
sheets, and crying: “No, Tommy dear. I’m awfully fond of you,
you know I am. But go away. Oh God, go away. And put a space
between us. Put a space between us!” she almost shrieked.
423
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
He pushed up his hair. He had been working on a big choral work which he was composing, and by this time he was
almost demented.
“Can’t you stand my presence!” he shouted, and dashed
downstairs.
“Nurse!” cried Effi e. “It’s no use trying to get a grip on life.
You’re just at the mercy of Forces,” she shrieked angrily.
“Why not?” said Alvina. “There are good life-forces. Even
the will of God is a life-force.”
“You don’t understand! I want to be myself And I’m not
myself. I’m just torn to pieces by Forces. It’s horrible – ”
“Well, it’s not my fault. I didn’t make the universe,” said Alvina. “If you have to be torn to pieces by forces, well, you have.
Other forces will put you together again.”
“I don’t want them to. I want to be myself. I don’t want to
be nailed together like a chair, with a hammer. I want to be
myself.”
“You won’t be nailed together like a chair. You should
have faith in life.”
“But I hate life. It’s nothing but a mass of forces. I am intelligent. Life isn’t intelligent. Look at it at this moment. Do you
call this intelligent? Oh – Oh! It’s horrible! Oh – !” She was
wild and sweating with her pains. Tommy fl ounced out downstairs, beside himself. He was heard talking to some one in
the moonlight outside. To Ciccio. He had already telephoned
wildly for the doctor. But the doctor had replied that Nurse
would ring him up.
The moment Mrs. Tuke recovered her breath she began
again.
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THE LOST GIRL
“I hate life, and faith, and such things. Faith is only fear.
And life is a mass of unintelligent forces to which intelligent
beings are submitted. Prostituted. Oh – oh!! – prostituted – ”
“Perhaps life itself is something bigger than intelligence,”
said Alvina.
“Bigger than intelligence!” shrieked Effi e. “Nothing is bigger than intelligence. Your man is a hefty brute. His yellow
eyes aren’t intelligent. They’re animal – ”
“No,” said Alvina. “Something else. I wish he didn’t attract
me – ”
“There! Because you’re not content to be at the mercy of
Forces!” cried Effi e. “I’m not. I’m not. I want to be myself. And
so forces tear me to pieces! Tear me to pie – eee – Oh-h-h!
No! – ”
Downstairs Tommy had walked Ciccio back into the house
again, and the two men were drinking port in the study, discussing Italy, for which Tommy had a great sentimental affection, though he hated all Italian music after the younger
Scarlatti. They drank port all through the night, Tommy being strictly forbidden to interfere upstairs, or even to fetch the
doctor. They drank three and a half bottles of port, and were
discovered in the morning by Alvina fast asleep in the study,
with the electric light still burning. Tommy slept with his fair
and ruffl ed head hanging over the edge of the couch like some
great loose fruit, Ciccio was on the fl oor, face downwards, his
face in his folded arms.
Alvina had a great diffi culty in waking the inert Ciccio.
In the end, she had to leave him and rouse Tommy fi rst: who
in rousing fell off the sofa with a crash which woke him dis-
425
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
agreeably. So that he turned on Alvina in a fury, and asked her
what the hell she thought she was doing. In answer to which
Alvina held up a fi nger warningly, and Tommy, suddenly remembering, fell back as if he had been struck.
“She is sleeping now,” said Alvina.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” he cried.
“It isn’t born yet,” she said.
“Oh God, it’s an accursed fugue!” cried the bemused Tommy. After which they proceeded to wake Ciccio, who was like
the dead doll in Petrushka, all loose and fl oppy. When he was
awake, however, he smiled at Alvina, and said: “Allaye!”
The dark, waking smile upset her badly.
CHAPTER XIII
THE WEDDED WIFE
The upshot of it all was that Alvina ran away to Scarborough without telling anybody. It was in the fi rst week in October. She asked for a week-end, to make some arrangements for
her marriage. The marriage was presumably with Dr. Mitchell – though she had given him no defi nite word. However,
her month’s notice was up, so she was legally free. And therefore she packed a rather large bag with all her ordinary things,
and set off in her everyday dress, leaving the nursing paraphernalia behind.
She knew Scarborough quite well: and quite quickly found
rooms which she had occupied before, in a boarding-house
where she had stayed with Miss Frost long ago. Having recovered from her journey, she went out on to the cliffs on the
north side. It was evening, and the sea was before her. What
was she to do?
She had run away from both men – from Ciccio as well as
from Mitchell. She had spent the last fortnight more or less
avoiding the pair of them. Now she had a moment to herself.
She was even free from Mrs. Tuke, who in her own way was
more exacting than the men. Mrs. Tuke had a baby daughter,
and was getting well. Ciccio was living with the Tukes. Tommy
427
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
had taken a fancy to him and had half engaged him as a sort
of personal attendant: the sort of thing Tommy would do, not
having paid his butcher’s bills.
So Alvina sat on the cliffs in a mood of exasperation. She
was sick of being badgered about. She didn’t really want to
marry anybody. Why should she? She was thankful beyond
measure to be by herself. How sick she was of other people and
their importunities! What was she to do? She decided to offer
herself again, in a little while, for war service – in a new town
this time. Meanwhile she wanted to be by herself.
She made excursions, she walked on the moors, in the brief
but lovely days of early October. For three days it was all so
sweet and lovely – perfect liberty, pure, almost paradisal.
The fourth day it rained: simply rained all day long, and
was cold, dismal, disheartening beyond words. There she sat,
stranded in the dismalness, and knew no way out. She went to
bed at nine o’clock, having decided in a jerk to go to London
and fi nd work in the war-hospitals at once: not to leave off
until she had found it.
But in the night she dreamed that Alexander, her fi rst fi ance, was with her on the quay of some harbour, and was reproaching her bitterly, even reviling her, for having come too
late, so that they had missed their ship. They were there to
catch the boat – and she, for dilatoriness, was an hour late,
and she could see the broad stern of the steamer not far off.
Just an hour late. She showed Alexander her watch – exactly ten o’clock, instead of nine. And he was more angry than
ever, because her watch was slow. He pointed to the harbour
clock – it was ten minutes past ten.
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THE LOST GIRL
When she woke up she was thinking of Alexander. It was
such a long time since she had thought of him. She wondered
if he had a right to be angry with her.
The day was still grey, with sweepy rain-clouds on the
sea – gruesome, objectionable. It was a prolongation of yesterday. Well, despair was no good, and being miserable was
no good either. She got no satisfaction out of either mood. The
only thing to do was to act: seize hold of life and wring its neck.
She took the time-table that hung in the hall: the timetable, that magic carpet of today. When in doubt, move. This
was the maxim. Move. Where to?
Another click of a resolution. She would wire to Ciccio and
meet him – where? York – Leeds – Halifax – ? She looked up
the places in the time-table, and decided on Leeds. She wrote
out a telegram, that she would be at Leeds that evening. Would
he get it in time? Chance it.
She hurried off and sent the telegram. Then she took a little luggage, told the people of her house she would be back
next day, and set off. She did not like whirling in the direction
of Lancaster. But no matter.
She waited a long time for the train from the north to come
in. The fi rst person she saw was Tommy. He waved to her and
jumped from the moving train.
“I say!” he said. “So glad to see you! Ciccio is with me. Effi e
insisted on my coming to see you.”
There was Ciccio climbing down with the bag. A sort of
servant! This was too much for her.
“So you came with your valet?” she said, as Ciccio stood
with the bag.
429
DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE
“Not a bit,” said Tommy, laying his hand on the other man’s
shoulder. “We’re the best of friends. I don’t carry bags because
my heart is rather groggy. I say, nurse, excuse me, but I like you
better in uniform. Black doesn’t suit you. You don’t mind – ”
“Yes, I do. But I’ve only got black clothes, except uniforms.”
“Well look here now – ! You’re not going on anywhere
tonight, are you?”
“It is too late.”
“Well now, let’s turn into the hotel and have a talk. I’m acting under Effi e’s orders, as you may gather – ”
At the hotel Tommy gave her a letter from his wife: to
the tune of – don’t marry this Italian, you’ll put yourself in
a wretched hole, and one wants to avoid getting into holes.
I know – concluded Effi e, on a sinister note.
Tommy sang another tune. Ciccio was a lovely chap, a rare
chap, a treat. He, Tommy, could quite understand any woman’s
wanting to marry him – didn’t agree a bit with Effi e. But marriage, you know, was so fi nal. And then with this war on: you
never knew how things might turn out: a foreigner and all
that. And then – you won’t mind what I say – ? We won’t talk
about class and that rot. If the man’s good enough, he’s good
enough by himself. But is he your intellectual equal, nurse?
After all, it’s a big point. You don’t want to marry a man you
can’t talk to. Ciccio’s a treat to be with, because he’s so natural.
But it isn’t a mental treat —
Alvina thought of Mrs. Tuke, who complained that Tommy
talked music and pseudo-philosophy by the hour when he was
wound up. She saw Effi e’s long, outstretched arm of repudiation and weariness.
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