Free Angels and Insects by A. S. Byatt

both as builders and butchers.’
    ‘Our Wood Ants must seem a little tame after those wild creatures.’
    ‘I am very happy here. I am useful, and every one is most kind.’
    ‘I hope your
sorting
may be completed to everyone’s satisfaction,’ said Matty Crompton. He decided later he had imagined something knowing in her tone.
    He had moments, as Spring ripened into early Summer, when he began to weary of his task of sorting. He figured it to himself, in some sense, as a labour of love, but he could see no reward at the end of it. What reward could there be? Eugenia was not for him. He was more and more relegated to a kind of between-world, a companion of the little girls, a companion and assistant for the old man. The young people went in and out constantly amongst a growing number of friends, both male and female. There was one young man, Robin Swinnerton, who could often be seen lifting Eugenia down from the back of her black mare, Dusk, his hands about her waist, his laughing face turned up to hers. Confusion coiled round William Adamson when he saw this, confusion composed of a vicarious pleasure in the imagined grip on her young muscles, a stab of blind envy, a reasonable cold voice that told him it was best if she were soon spoken for, for then he could go free.
Now
he could go free, for all the hope he had, he answered himself, but he could not listen. He traced on his own lips with one finger the perfect arch of hers, as it would be, if touched.
    He was used to solitude; he had no idea how to gossip, or to listen to gossip, though he was aware, as one is aware of clouds of pollen drifting from great trees on warm days, that speculation was in the air. Then one day he was making his way along the cloister-passage to the hexagonal Studium, when he met Robin Swinnerton hurrying the other way. He was a chestnut and russet, curly young man, with a pleasant smile, which on this day stretched from ear to ear and took in William Adamson. He nearly knocked William over, and stopped to apologise, shake his hand, and break into laughter. ‘I am on a happy errand, Sir, I was preoccupied—’
    ‘That young man’, said Harald Alabaster, when William had entered, ‘wishes to marry my daughter. I have given permission, and he says he already knows what she will say—so you must wish me joy.’
    ‘I do indeed.’
    ‘The first fledgling out of the nest.’
    William turned to look out of the window. He said, ‘The others must soon follow, in the course of things.’
    ‘I know. They must. I worry about Eugenia, I must confess. I feel this news is not calculated to increase
her
happiness—though perhaps I underestimate her.’
    It took William what seemed like hours to make sense of this pronouncement.
    ‘Then it is not—not Miss Eugenia Alabaster—who is to be married?’
    ‘What? Oh no. I had almost said, oh no, alas. It is Rowena. It is Rowena who is to marry Mr Swinnerton.’
    ‘I thought Mr Swinnerton showed signs of becoming attached to Miss Eugenia.’
    ‘My wife too—was of that opinion—but it turns out to beRowena. Eugenia may not like Rowena to be married first. She was engaged herself, you know, but the young man died in a tragic accident. And since then—I do not know how it is—she has had many suitors, very many, considering the limitations of the neighbourhood—but she has not—I do not know whether she herself displays coldness—or whether—she is a
good
girl, William, she bore her grief very well, she did not go into decline, or repine, she was docile as ever—but I fear the life went out of her, to some extent, and has not come back.’
    ‘She is so beautiful, Sir—so very beautiful—and—and—
perfect—
that she cannot be long without finding—some worthy partner.’
    ‘So I believe, but her mother is concerned. I think her mother will not be best pleased if Rowena goes first—it isn’t right—but I do not see how Rowena’s happiness can or should be prevented. Indeed, it is