About a fortnight afterwards, on a Sunday afternoon, Cohen went to
the Marshalls'. He had called there once or twice since his mother-
in-law came to London, but had seen nothing of the lodgers. It was
just about tea-time, but unfortunately Marshall and his wife had gone
out. Mrs Caffyn insisted that Cohen should stay, but Madge could not
be persuaded to come downstairs, and Baruch, Mrs Caffyn and Clara had
tea by themselves. Baruch asked Mrs Caffyn if she could endure
London after living for so long in the country.
'Ah! my dear boy, I have to like it.'
'No, you haven't; what you mean is that, whether you like it, or
whether you do not, you have to put up with it.'
'No, I don't mean that. Miss Hopgood, Cohen and me, we are the best
of friends, but whenever he comes here, he allus begins to argue with
me. Howsomever, arguing isn't everything, is it, my dear? There's
some things, after all, as I can do and he can't, but he's just wrong
here in his arguing that wasn't what I meant. I meant what I said,
as I had to like it.' 'How can you like it if you don't?'
'How can I? That shows you're a man and not a woman. Jess like you
men. YOU'D do what you didn't like, I know, for you're a good sort--
and everybody would know you didn't like it--but what would be the
use of me a-livin' in a house if I didn't like it?--with my daughter
and these dear, young women? If it comes to livin', you'd ten
thousand times better say at once as you hate bein' where you are
than go about all day long, as if you was a blessed saint and put
upon.' Mrs Caffyn twitched at her gown and pulled it down over her knees and
brushed the crumbs off with energy. She continued, 'I can't abide
people who everlastin' make believe they are put upon. Suppose I
were allus a-hankering every foggy day after Great Oakhurst, and yet
a-tellin' my daughter as I knew my place was here; if I was she, I
should wish my mother at Jericho.'
'Then you really prefer London to Great Oakhurst?' said Clara.
'Why, my dear, of course I do. Don't you think it's pleasanter being
here with you and your sister and that precious little creature, and
my daughter, than down in that dead-alive place? Not that I don't
miss my walk sometimes into Darkin; you remember that way as I took
you once, Baruch, across the hill, and we went over Ranmore Common
and I showed you Camilla Lacy, and you said as you knew a woman who
wrote books who once lived there? You remember them beech-woods?
Ah, it was one October! Weren't they a colour--weren't they lovely?'