These twilight parades of young people, youngsters chiefly of the lower middle-class, are one of the odd social developments of the great suburban growths--unkindly critics, blind to the inner meanings of things, call them, I believe, Monkeys' Parades--the shop apprentices, the young work girls, the boy clerks and so forth, stirred by mysterious intimations, spend their first-earned money upon collars and ties, chiffon hats, smart lace collars, walking-sticks, sunshades or cigarettes, and come valiantly into the vague transfiguring mingling of gaslight and evening, to walk up and down, to eye meaningly, even to accost and make friends.It is a queer instinctive revolt from the narrow limited friendless homes in which so many find themselves, a going out towards something, romance if you will, beauty, that has suddenly become a need--a need that hitherto has lain dormant and unsuspected.They promenade.
Vulgar!--it is as vulgar as the spirit that calls the moth abroad in the evening and lights the body of the glow-worm in the night.Imade my way through the throng, a little contemptuously as became a public schoolboy, my hands in my pockets--none of your cheap canes for me!--and very careful of the lie of my cigarette upon my lips.
And two girls passed me, one a little taller than the other, with dim warm-tinted faces under clouds of dark hair and with dark eyes like pools reflecting stars.
I half turned, and the shorter one glanced back at me over her shoulder--I could draw you now the pose of her cheek and neck and shoulder--and instantly I was as passionately in love with the girl as I have ever been before or since, as any man ever was with any woman.I turned about and followed them, I flung away my cigarette ostentatiously and lifted my school cap and spoke to them.
The girl answered shyly with her dark eyes on my face.What I said and what she said I cannot remember, but I have little doubt it was something absolutely vapid.It really did not matter; the thing was we had met.I felt as I think a new-hatched moth must feel when suddenly its urgent headlong searching brings it in tremulous amazement upon its mate.
We met, covered from each other, with all the nets of civilisation keeping us apart.We walked side by side.
It led to scarcely more than that.I think we met four or five times altogether, and always with her nearly silent elder sister on the other side of her.We walked on the last two occasions arm in arm, furtively caressing each other's hands, we went away from the glare of the shops into the quiet roads of villadom, and there we whispered instead of talking and looked closely into one another's warm and shaded face."Dear," I whispered very daringly, and she answered, "Dear!" We had a vague sense that we wanted more of that quality of intimacy and more.We wanted each other as one wants beautiful music again or to breathe again the scent of flowers.
And that is all there was between us.The events are nothing, the thing that matters is the way in which this experience stabbed through the common stuff of life and left it pierced, with a light, with a huge new interest shining through the rent.
When I think of it I can recall even now the warm mystery of her face, her lips a little apart, lips that I never kissed, her soft shadowed throat, and I feel again the sensuous stir of her proximity....
Those two girls never told me their surname nor let me approach their house.They made me leave them at the corner of a road of small houses near Penge Station.And quite abruptly, without any intimation, they vanished and came to the meeting place no more, they vanished as a moth goes out of a window into the night, and left me possessed of an intolerable want....
The affair pervaded my existence for many weeks.I could not do my work and I could not rest at home.Night after night I promenaded up and down that Monkeys' Parade full of an unappeasable desire, with a thwarted sense of something just begun that ought to have gone on.I went backwards and forwards on the way to the vanishing place, and at last explored the forbidden road that had swallowed them up.But I never saw her again, except that later she came to me, my symbol of womanhood, in dreams.How my blood was stirred! Ilay awake of nights whispering in the darkness for her.I prayed for her.
Indeed that girl, who probably forgot the last vestiges of me when her first real kiss came to her, ruled and haunted me, gave a Queen to my imagination and a texture to all my desires until I became a man.
I generalised her at last.I suddenly discovered that poetry was about her and that she was the key to all that had hitherto seemed nonsense about love.I took to reading novels, and if the heroine could not possibly be like her, dusky and warm and starlike, I put the book aside....
I hesitate and add here one other confession.I want to tell this thing because it seems to me we are altogether too restrained and secretive about such matters.The cardinal thing in life sneaks in to us darkly and shamefully like a thief in the night.
One day during my Cambridge days--it must have been in my first year before I knew Hatherleigh--I saw in a print-shop window near the Strand an engraving of a girl that reminded me sharply of Penge and its dusky encounter.It was just a half length of a bare-shouldered, bare-breasted Oriental with arms akimbo, smiling faintly.I looked at it, went my way, then turned back and bought it.I felt I must have it.The odd thing is that I was more than a little shamefaced about it.I did not have it framed and hung in my room open to the criticism of my friends, but I kept it in the drawer of my writing-table.And I kept that drawer locked for a year.It speedily merged with and became identified with the dark girl of Penge.That engraving became in a way my mistress.Often when I had sported my oak and was supposed to be reading, I was sitting with it before me.
