Howards End Read Online Free PDF

bring out a parcel from the office. This way.”
    â€œMy niece is not with you by any chance?”
    â€œNo; I came over with my father. He has gone on north in your train. You’ll see Miss Schlegel at lunch. You’re coming up to lunch, I hope?”
    â€œI should like to come up,” said Mrs. Munt, not committing herself to nourishment until she had studied Helen’s lover a little more. He seemed a gentleman, but had so rattled her round that her powers of observation were numbed. She glanced at him stealthily. To a feminine eye there was nothing amiss in the sharp depressions at the comers of his mouth, nor in the rather box-like construction of his forehead. He was dark, clean-shaven, and seemed accustomed to command.
    â€œIn front or behind? Which do you prefer? It may be windy in front.”
    â€œIn front if I may; then we can talk.”
    â€œBut excuse me one moment—I can’t think what they’re doing with that parcel.” He strode into the booking-office, and called with a new voice: “Hi! hi, you there! Are you going to keep me waiting all day? Parcel for Wilcox, Howards End. Just look sharp!” Emerging, he said in quieter tones: “This station’s abominably organized; if I had my way, the whole lot of ‘em should get the sack. May I help you in?”
    â€œThis is very good of you,” said Mrs. Munt, as she settled herself into a luxurious cavern of red leather, and suffered her person to be padded with rugs and shawls. She was more civil than she had intended, but really this young man was very kind. Moreover, she was a little afraid of him: his self-possession was extraordinary. “Very good indeed,” she repeated, adding: “It is just what I should have wished.”
    â€œVery good of you to say so,” he replied, with a slight look of surpise, which, like most slight looks, escaped Mrs. Munt’s attention. “I was just tooling my father over to catch the down train.”
    â€œYou see, we heard from Helen this morning.”
    Young Wilcox was pouring in petrol, starting his engine, and performing other actions with which this story has no concern. The great car began to rock, and the form of Mrs. Munt, trying to explain things, sprang agreeably up and down among the red cushions. “The mater will be very glad to see you,” he mumbled. “Hi! I say. Parcel for Howards End. Bring it out. Hi!”
    A bearded porter emerged with the parcel in one hand and an entry book in the other. With the gathering whir of the motor these ejaculations mingled: “Sign, must I? Why the—should I sign after all this bother? Not even got a pencil on you? Remember, next time I report you to the station-master. My time’s of value, though yours mayn’t be. Here”—here being a tip.
    â€œExtremely sorry, Mrs. Munt.”
    â€œNot at all, Mr. Wilcox.”
    â€œAnd do you object to going through the village? It is rather a longer spin, but I have one or two commissions.”
    â€œI should love going through the village. Naturally I am very anxious to talk things over with you.”
    As she said this she felt ashamed, for she was disobeying Margaret’s instructions. Only disobeying them in the letter, surely. Margaret had only warned her against discussing the incident with outsiders. Surely it was not “uncivilized” or “wrong” to discuss it with the young man himself, since chance had thrown them together.
    A reticent fellow, he made no reply. Mounting by her side, he put on gloves and spectacles, and off they drove, the bearded porter—life is a mysterious business—looking after them with admiration.
    The wind was in their faces down the station road, blowing the dust into Mrs. Munt’s eyes. But as soon as they turned into the Great North Road she opened fire. “You can well imagine,” she said, “that the news was a great shock to