It was the reward of her tact and devotion through the day.Now she understood why some women prefer influence to rights.
Mrs.Plynlimmon，when condemning suffragettes，had said："The woman who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself."Margaret had winced，but she was influencing Henry now，and though pleased at her little victory，she knew that she had won it by the methods of the harem.
"I should be glad if you took him，"she said，"but I don't know whether he's qualified.""I'll do what I can.But，Margaret，this mustn't be taken as a precedent.""No，of course--of course--"
"I can't fit in your protégés every day.Business would suffer.""I can promise you he's the last.He--he's rather a special case.""Protégés always are."
She let it stand at that.He rose with a little extra touch of complacency，and held out his hand to help her up.
How wide the gulf between Henry as he was and Henry as Helen thought he ought to be！And she herself--hovering as usual between the two，now accepting men as they are，now yearning with her sister for Truth.
Love and Truth--their warfare seems eternal.Perhaps the whole visible world rests on it，and if they were one，life itself，like the spirits when Prospero was reconciled to his brother，might vanish into air，into thin air.
"Your protégéhas made us late，"said he."The Fussells will just be starting."On the whole she sided with men as they are.
Henry would save the Basts as he had saved Howards End，while Helen and her friends were discussing the ethics of salvation.His was a slap-dash method，but the world has been built slap-dash，and the beauty of mountain and river and sunset may be but the varnish with which the unskilled artificer hides his joins.Oniton，like herself，was imperfect.Its apple-trees were stunted，its castle ruinous.It，too，had suffered in the border warfare between the Anglo Saxon and the Kelt，between things as they are and as they ought to be.Once more the west was retreating，once again the orderly stars were dotting the eastern sky.There is certainly no rest for us on the earth.But there is happiness，and as Margaret descended the mound on her lover's arm，she felt that she was having her share.
To her annoyance，Mrs.Bast was still in the garden；the husband and Helen had left her there to finish her meal while they went to engage rooms.Margaret found this woman repellent.
She had felt，when shaking her hand，an overpowering shame.She remembered the motive of her call at Wickham Place，and smelt again odours from the abyss--odours the more disturbing because they were involuntary.
For there was no malice in Jacky.There she sat，a piece of cake in one hand，an empty champagne glass in the other，doing no harm to anybody.
"She's overtired，"Margaret whispered.
