have not deteriorated, he always has the most lively countenance,” Henry said.
“He is still as lively as ever, I assure you!” Elinor replied.
“I am glad to hear it,” Henry declared.
They sat on the table near the two armchairs that framed the coffee table. Elinor called for tea.
“So how was France?” Elinor questioned as they were handed their saucers and cup.
“Oh it was just the best, wasn’t it dear,” Mrs Clark exclaimed,” I tell you Elinor it was one of the best experiences of my life. I mean of course my cousin goes frequently, but for us it was just heaven. I was glad that Henry could speak French though or else who knows where we would have ended up, isn’t that right dear,” She said as she turned to Henry for conformation.
“Oh yes we had the time of our lives and Elinor if you ever get the chance I would tell you to waste no time in deciding for you must and you will go,” Henry replied turning to Mrs Clark as she had to him, little but two minutes before.
“I am glad you enjoyed yourselves for father was quite worried that you may catch something life threatening. But you know how he is since his condition, always worrying about people’s health. I mean being a doctor himself all those years ago doesn’t help much. But I am very happy that you had a wonderful experience. Are you planning on taking another or are you settling down yet?” Elinor questioned.
“Nope we plan to continue with our travels for a little while longer which reminds me, would you mind if I and Mrs Clark went to collect the Atlas because we intend to take a tour of America in a few months’ time?” Henry said to Elinor.
“Oh yes of course I believe it is in the library as I remember dusting it the other day,” Elinor replied.
Mr Hugo throughout all of this had just sat silently taking in the view around him. He had come from the wealthiest region in Scotland to the poorest region in Cornwall, which meant that he found many things rather different, but was keen to explore them.
Henry and Mrs Clark walked out of the room and into the library, closing the door behind them. The hinges squeaked as the door was pushed to, reminding Elinor of a particular day in spring when she had spent the entire day sitting against it reading. She had intended to get up and perch herself upon her favourite armchair, however the thought of that escaped her as she became too immersed in her book and the life that was being created in front of her eyes. It had been the perfect escape from reality.
Mr Hugo and Elinor were left to sit awkwardly sipping tea and waiting for a subject of conversation to interrupt the atmosphere of uneasiness. However one would be scared that it would just make the situation even more awkward than it was in the first place. However much discomfort the situation proved to be there was an invisible rope attached between them, an understanding of sorts that neither had much idea of, but were yet to find out.
Elinor watched Mr Hugo, his eyes wondered, the windows to the world around us, shutters showing meaning and things beyond our imagination, things that alter our mood and paths of our life. Elinor watched as he looked towards her favourite book on her desk and smiled. A look of understanding which shed a light upon Mr Hugo which Elinor had never experienced. He must have read it and been through the same thoughts and questions as he turned every page, every line unique with hidden meanings all of their own.
“Are you a keen reader then?” Elinor questioned.
“Oh yes an extremely keen reader, I remember reading that book and not being able to put it down, it seemed to have hold on me completely.” Mr Hugo replied.
Elinor noticed his hands. They were large and very white yet is some ways narrow like gardener’s hands but cleaner. He seemed to have a sort of ribbon or string around his wrist, just about visible under his dark blue sleeve. She glanced up at him. He had finished his tea, and put the cup and saucer back on the tray. Elinor was glad she had a pen in her hand to occupy herself with, to make it as though she was doing something that made the atmosphere less full of discomfort and made her feel more like herself and less like a sleepwalker muddled by a dream , not in control of what to say or do. Although Henry and Mrs Clark had only been gone for a couple of minutes, For Elinor and Mr Hugo is felt like an eternity had passed. There were things she felt she should be doing, things she felt she should be saying, and there she was sitting like a fool, before the window, unable to collect her thoughts or impressions. He had the same presence(that he had all those years ago) that made you feel uneasy as though behind his intelligent blue eyes he was laughing at you, judging every move you made and seeing you for who you really are no matter how much you tried to hide it.
Mrs Clark and Henry then returned and Elinor sighed with relief, which Mr Hugo noticed quite profoundly. They sat down, Henry carrying the Atlas in his hand, he placed it upon his lap and Mrs Clark sat beside him.
“So dear sister, what have you been up to?” Henry questioned as he took his first sip of tea. “I hear you have been become quite the poet amongst our close acquaintances.”
“Oh yes ...”
“Poetry writing, how tedious! “Said Mr. Hugo, placing his cup upon the coffee table.
“I see you do not enjoy the art of poetry then Mr Hugo,” Elinor replied.
“Oh not at all,” Mr Hugo said, “I find it mostly disagreeable and I do not agree with it at all.”
“I have always heard that small minds cannot comprehend lively spirits,” Elinor replied.
“Exactly...” Mr Hugo said.
Elinor astonished replied, “If you do not agree with poetry I guess you do not agree with telling the truth. As it is the art of uniting pleasure with truth and is the language as its most distilled and powerful. It is a complex perfection, associable with nothing less complex than truth.”
“I was thinking more of the fact that poem writing is seen in my eyes as a condition not a profession, and it is only through madness and mystery that the soul is revealed and after all the poet is a liar who always speaks the truth….Secretly. “Said Mr. Hugo.
Elinor blushed and her eyebrows raised.
“Why don’t you delight us with a piece of music Elinor, I have always enjoyed your playing. “Said Henry.
But Elinor and Mr. Hugo had not finished.
“I do not doubt your poetry writing being very accomplished, a poet is a person being passionately in love with the language. “Said Mr. Hugo meaning no offense.
“And you seem very confident on what you are saying, how do you know anything about it? After all you just said you find it tedious. Do you think because you are richer than the whole village put together that everything you say and do is right?” Replied Elinor.
“I see you have kept up with your quality of not believing in covering up the truth Miss Clark,” Said Mr. Hugo as he lifted his eyes to meet hers.
“You would call it a quality, I see then,” Elinor replied,” I see you have still kept your quality of pointing out the hidden meaning or looking at me as though you know all the secrets of life within you.”
Mr. Hugo was a rich and well educated young man with a lively spirit and high propriety. He had black wavy hair and a bright complexion, suggesting good exercise and food. Witty and a lover of good conversation
