Mr Pim Passes By

by A. A. Milne

  ‘Not too far for Mr. Pim, I hope.’

  ‘I have been a great traveller, Miss Marden. As I was telling Mrs. Marden, I have only recently arrived from Australia.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I have no doubt I could manage the journey to Chelsea. And Prudence, too.’ He chuckled again to find that he had the young people laughing with him.

  ‘Very well, then, that’s settled,’ said Dinah. ‘Tell Miss Pim that that is the very first invitation to my new house which I have issued. Which I have issued,’ she repeated to Brian. ‘Doesn’t it sound grand? Like royalty.’

  She laughed again out of simple happiness, the laugh which thrilled Brian, and held out her hand to Mr. Pim.

  ‘Good-bye, Mr. Pim.’

  ‘Good-bye, sir,’ added Brian.

  He took off his hat and bowed courteously, first over Dinah’s hand, then over Brian’s.

  ‘Good-bye, good-bye,’ he said. ‘God bless you both.’ And so through the gate and, for the last time surely, out of Marden House.

  Dinah’s farewell wave lacked finish, she was so eager to talk to Brian alone.

  ‘I say,’ she began excitedly, ‘did you know that the whole thing—I mean Telworthy—’

  He nodded.

  ‘Olivia’s just told me. Isn’t it absurd?’

  ‘I knew things like that didn’t really happen. Except in books, of course.’

  ‘But I can tell you something which really is going to happen,’ said Brian, looking at her fondly.

  ‘Us? You and me? Why, of course it is.’

  ‘I mean George and you and me.’

  ‘He’s relented?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘No, but Olivia told me. Well practically told me.’

  He beamed at her, as if he had done it all himself, and waited for her exclamation of delight. But Dinah was not so sure that she was delighted. The part of the unhappy maiden immured by the wicked uncle had its attractions. Not for her now the clandestine meeting; not for her the notes left under doormats, the tryst by the withered thorn when all the household was asleep. All the romance of the forbidden engagement was torn from her. Alas, alas!

  ‘What is it, darling?’ asked her lover, seeing that something was wrong.

  She shook her head. Absurd tears were gathering unbidden.

  ‘Sweetheart!’ His arms went round her.

  ‘Oh, Brian!’ She clung to him. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter. Let me be silly sometimes. It’s because I love you so. There’s such a lot about love; it makes you want so much . . . and—not want it . . . and not know what you want.’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he said again. What else could he say?

  ‘I want you like this—with me, and I want you far away from me, so that I can think about you. It’s all a new country, and there are so many ways to go—all beautiful. I think that’s why I am crying, because I don’t want to miss any of them. Let me be silly sometimes.’

  ‘But you aren’t being,’ he protested. ‘You’re being sweet. You’re making me love you more every moment.’ He held her tightly to him.

  In a small stifled voice she said, ‘I think you will have to let me go now, because I want to get at my pocket handkerchief.’

  With a laugh he released her. She dabbed at her eyes, smiling at him round the handkerchief. He wanted to protest again that she wasn’t being silly, that he quite understood, that he loved her all the more for feeling as she did. But apparently she had forgotten all that.

  ‘The worst of having a nose much too small like mine/ she said, ‘is that——’

  ‘It isn’t too small. It’s just the right size.’

  ‘The worst of having a nose just the right size like mine is that when it gets red at the end, then it’s practically red all over.’

  ‘It isn’t red.’

  ‘Isn’t it really? I’m generally an awful sight when I cry.’

  He kissed it lightly. ‘Now it isn’t,’ he said.

  ‘Hooray!’ She held out a friendly little hand to him. ‘Come along, and let’s forgive George. He’s going to be your uncle. What luck the Mardens have!’

  Hand in hand they went up the drive, chattering; Dinah, her own irresponsible self again. But an unwonted humility had descended upon Brian. Somehow he felt that he had let Dinah down; that he had just not said the right thing. ‘Lord/ he reflected solemnly, ‘it’s an exciting life.’

  II

  They were just in time to see Olivia in George’s arms.

  ‘Oo, I say!’ Dinah burst out.

  George freed himself hurriedly, and turned to them as if he had never kissed anybody in his life, but Dinah was not going to let the moment go.

  ‘Give me one, too, George,’ she demanded, rushing up to him. ‘Brian won’t mind.’

  This was too much for that young man. ‘Really, Dinah, you are the limit,’ he said uncomfortably.

  But George, happy George, good little boy again, was in his best form now. He held out his hand to his niece, twinkles in his eyes, in the lines of his handsome face.

  ‘Do you mind, Mr. Strange?’ he asked politely.

  Dinah gave them her own incomparable laugh. Olivia smiled happily on her handsome husband. Only Brian was not quite at his ease. He stammered out something which might or might not have been his permission.

  ‘We’ll risk it, Dinah,’ said her uncle, and pulled her towards him.

  ‘There!’ she said, emerging triumphantly. ‘Did you notice that one? That wasn’t just an ordinary affectionate uncle kiss. It was a special bless-you- my-children one.’ She appealed confidently to George. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘You do talk nonsense, darling,’ said happy Olivia.

  ‘Absolute nonsense,’ agreed the happy George.

  ‘It’s because everything’s so lovely now,’ she explained to her aunt. ‘I mean now that Mr. Pim has relented about your first husband.’

  George and Olivia exchanged a glance. He smiled; how easily Dinah had been taken in. She smiled; how easily George had been taken in. But George thought that it was the same smile as his.

  ‘Yes, yes, stupid fellow, Pim—what?’ he said, carrying the joke on.

  ‘Absolute idiot,’ agreed Brian.

  George’s hearty laugh rang out. The joke was too good to be bottled up inside him. But Olivia’s joke, so much the better one, still kept within the corners of her mouth and her half-lowered eyes.

  ‘And now that George,’ Dinah went on calmly, ‘has relented about my first husband——’

  ‘Wait a bit,’ he protested good-humouredly. ‘You get on much too fast, young woman.’ He looked across at Brian. ‘So you want to marry my Dinah, eh?’

  ‘Well I do rather, sir.’

  Dinah elaborated this a little.

  ‘Not at once, of course, George. We want to be engaged for a long time first, and write letters to each other, and tell each other how much we love each other, and sit next to each other when we go out to dinner.’ She turned to Brian, and explained hastily: ‘You can’t sit next to each other when you’re married, you know.’

  There were so many beautiful ways to go in the new country. She wanted to explore them all, lingeringly, lovingly.

  ‘I see,’ said George. He smiled to Olivia. ‘Well, that sounds fairly harmless, I think?’

  ‘I think so.’

  How easy everything was being made for him, she felt. He beamed upon them in the part of loving husband, indulgent uncle; and behold! it was the only part he had ever played. Automatically they fitted themselves to it; loved wife, indulged niece, propitiatory suitor. How easy everything was always made for men!

  ‘Well, you’d better come and have a talk with me—er—Brian.’

  Kind George! Generous George! ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said the grateful Brian eagerly.
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br />   ‘Well, come along then. I’ve got to go up to London after tea’—he looked at his watch—‘so we’d better have our little talk now.’

  Brian began nervously to estimate his assets, whereof the chief seemed to be young Marshall. If Marshall had bought a picture for fifty pounds, there was no reason why he shouldn’t buy another.

  ‘I say, are you going to London?’ asked Dinah.

  ‘A little business.’ He caught Olivia’s eye and laughed happily. ‘Never you mind, young woman.’

  ‘All right. Only don’t forget my engagement present.’

  The indulgent uncle laughed again. The cheek of her!

  ‘Well, well, we’ll see. Now then—er—Brian, shall we walk down and look at the pigs?’

  ‘Right-o.’

  ‘Brian and George always discuss me in front of the pigs,’ said Dinah to her aunt. ‘So tactless of them.’

  But there was another reason now why the pigs must be denied this further intimacy with Dinah’s affairs.

  ‘Don’t go far away, dear,’ said Olivia. ‘I may want you in a moment.’

  George hastened to assent. His one idea was to please everybody. ‘We’ll be on the terrace,’ he said, and led the way out of the windows. Brian followed nervously.

  How surprised Father would be if Suitor spoke to him in this fashion. ‘I want to marry your daughter. The reasons why I think you can trust her safely to me are as follows: I have a sense of humour, and by the Grace of God it is the same sense of humour as hers. I shall not bore her by repeating what seem to her to be pointless stories which I have heard at the club, nor, on the other hand, will she irritate me by listening with an artificial smile to what seem to me to be delightfully humorous stories. The same people, the same accidents to ourselves or to others, will amuse us. We have already, Heaven be thanked, something of the same feeling as to what is beautiful and what is not beautiful. It is probable that with companionship our tastes will become more nearly identical, I learning from her, and she from me. In any case there is much common ground upon which we can meet. I have, I think, some imagination. I can understand that in any difference between husband and wife there is a woman’s point of view as well as a man’s; a point of view no less legitimate. I shall try to remember that marriage is a partnership, in which the man is not inevitably the senior partner. If we have children, my memory is not so untrustworthy that I shall forget who suffered to bring them into the world, my sense of humour (to refer to it again) is not so lacking that I shall adopt the airs of the sole proprietor, the only director of their destinies. As regards money matters, if she is dependent on my income for her comforts, I shall remember that it is by my own wish that she is so dependent, and I shall recognize that she has as much right to those comforts as I have. Finally, if I must refer particularly (as seems in these cases to be customary) to that one of the virtues which, for some reason, is singled out as Virtue, I bring to my wife no less than I receive from her; I expect from her no more than I can keep for her. In this matter I recognize no shadow of a difference between the two sexes. Sir, I have the honour to say again that I want to marry your daughter.’

  How indignant Father would be if Suitor spoke to him in this fashion. How quickly he would dismiss the ridiculous fellow and send for the next suitor. The next suitor says: ‘I want to marry your daughter. I have ten thousand pounds a year in gilt-edged securities, together with other investments which bring in some additional four thousand. When Great-Aunt Agatha dies—she is ninety-three, poor soul, and one cannot wish her sufferings to be prolonged—I come into another three thousand a year. The Jaggers are a very old family, and Sir Eustace Jagger, who may be relied upon to come to the wedding, is my second cousin. Naturally (speaking as one man of the world to another) I have had my little affairs, but they may be regarded now as entirely closed; satisfactorily, I think I may say, to both sides. Sir, I want to marry your daughter.’

  How gladly Father shakes him by the hand! Take her, my boy, she is yours!

  Wherefore Brian followed George nervously to the terrace, wondering which of his aunts was going to be most useful to him this afternoon.

  Olivia was now at the last ring of all. Dinah watched her thoughtfully for the first few stitches, and then said: ‘Are you going to London, too?’

  ‘To-morrow morning.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Shopping, and—one or two little things.’

  ‘I suppose Brian will go up by your train?’

  Olivia nodded.

  ‘Leaving Dinah all alone in the country. Will she mind?’

  ‘No. I want to be alone. Just for a little.’ Then suddenly, to the great jeopardy of the last ring of all, her arms went round Olivia, and she was holding her tightly.

  ‘Dinah, darling.’

  ‘That means everything that I can’t say,’ whispered Dinah. ‘Have long talks with me when you come back, will you?’

  Olivia promised.

  ‘I didn’t really mean that about an engagement present, you know.’

  ‘Dearest one,’ said Olivia, kissing her.

  ‘I expect you must think sometimes I’m a selfish little beast, but I’m not really. At least, I’m not going to be any more.’

  ‘Don’t confess any more of your sins, darling,’ said Olivia gently, ‘or I shall have to confess mine.’

  ‘You? As if you ever——’

  Olivia put a hand over the protesting mouth. It was true that George had absolved her; it was an innocent deception, perfectly harmless; but she still felt a little doubtful about it. She would tell him the truth in Paris, on their bit of a honeymoon. Perhaps it would sound more innocent in French.

  ‘I say,’ said Dinah suddenly, ‘wasn’t it lovely about Mr. Pim?’

  ‘Lovely?’

  ‘Yes. Making such a hash of things.’!

  ‘Did he make a hash of things?’

  ‘Well, I mean, keeping on coming like that. And if you look at it all round—well, for all he had to say, he needn’t really have come at all.’

  Indignation on Olympus! The absurdity of the child? Olivia laughed and shook out her curtains— which Mr. Pim had put up.

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t quite say that, Dinah,’ she murmured.

  And now that the curtains are finished at last, what shall we say about them? Personally, I have never been enthusiastic about this particular pair. Nor, I feel, will Olivia retain her enthusiasm for long. She will discover that people are saying, ‘What lovely curtains,’ instead of ‘What a lovely room,’ and she will try something else. Perhaps Dinah will get the orange and black ones for her bedroom after all. But, as one of our thinkers observed in an earlier chapter, we must find out our mistakes for ourselves.

  ‘I say, aren’t they jolly!’ said Dinah. (There you are. They are beginning.)

  ‘I’m so glad everybody likes them,’ said Olivia. ‘Tell George I’m ready, will you?’

  ‘I say! Is he going to hang them up for you?’

  He was. Olivia proposed to finish the episode in style. But the style of it was not a matter for discussion with Dinah.

  ‘Well, I thought he could reach best,’ she explained.

  Dinah accepted the explanation with a smile, and went to the windows to call her uncle. There they were, the two of them, ‘walking up and down in order to conceal their emotion,’ as she had described them to Mr. Pim that morning, a little prematurely. She called to them, and George waved back from the far end of the terrace.

  ‘Is he coming?’ asked Olivia.

  ‘Yes. Brian’s just telling him about the five shillings he has got in the Post Office. I expect George was rather surprised to hear about that.’

  They came in, George all eagerness.

  ‘Yes, darling?’

  ‘Oh, George dear, just hang these up for me, will you?’

  ‘Of course, darli
ng. I’d better get the steps.’

  He hurried into the library. Many were the books in the library; most of them unread; some of them—none the less effective for that—well out of reach. George, however, or one of his ancestors, ever thoughtful for others, had provided a step ladder, by means of which the enthusiast could get into touch with all that was highest in literature. Those steps he seized and bore with him to the morning-room. In a moment he will mount them—perhaps for the first time in his career.

  Meanwhile, Brian is introducing himself to his future aunt-in-law, his future wife.

  ‘It’s all settled. I’m going to be President of the Royal Academy by next May, and I’ve promised to paint the front door.’

  Olivia smiles happily at him. Dinah rushes up and demands more particulars.

  ‘What did you say to each other? How did you begin? Is he going to give me an allowance? How much money have I got?’

  ‘We discussed none of those things. I began by saying “Look here, the whole point is, what am I going to call you? I can’t very well call you Marden, and it’s absurd to call you Uncle George if Dinah doesn’t, and you wouldn’t like me to call you George.” He agreed that it was very awkward. For a moment we thought that the engagement would fall through. I asked him if he wouldn’t consider going into the Church so that I could call him Dean, but he decided against it. Then, just as we were giving up hope, we had a brilliant idea. We decided that I should call him “I say—you—er” for a bit.’

  Dinah, laughing, holds out her hand.

  ‘Come on, let’s go down to the farm and tell Arnold.’

  ‘Who’s Arnold?’ asks Olivia.

  ‘Our favourite pig,’ Brian explains. ‘We shall bring him back with us to see the curtains.’

  They laugh their way out of the windows together, the two children.

  Then back came George with the steps. The curtains are long, the steps narrow and steep. Just at first it seems that there is going to be an accident, but he achieves the top safely. For a moment he balances there, draped from head to foot in orange and black, Olivia beneath him, looking up anxiously. And in that moment we see Mr. Pim for the last time.