OF THIS TIME, OF THAT PLACE
91
would have the experience and skill which he himself could not have.
One way or another the Dean could answer the question, "What is Ter–
tan?" Yet this was precisely what he feared. He alone could keep alive–
not forever but for a somehow important time-the question, "What is
Tertan ?" He alone could keep it still a question. Some sure instinct
told him that he must not surrender the question to a clean official desk
in a clear official light to be dealt with, settled and closed.
He heard himself saying, "Is the Dean busy at the moment? I'd
like to see him."
His request came thus unbidden, even forbidden, and it was one of
the surprising and startling incidents of his life. Later, when he reviewed
the events, so disconnected in themselves or so merely odd, of the story
that unfolded for him that year, it was over this moment, on its face the
least notable, that he paused longest.
It
was frequently to be with fear
and never without a certainty of its meaning in his own knowledge of
himself
that he would recall this simple, routine request and the feeling
of shame and freedom it gave him as he sent everything down the official
chute. In the end, of course, no matter what he did to "protect" Tertan,
he
would have had to make the same request and lay the matter on the
Dean's clean desk. But it would always be a landmark of his life that,
at the very moment when he was rejecting the official way, he had been,
without will or intention, so gladly drawn to it.
After the storm's last delicate flurry, the sun had come out. Re-
8ected by the new snow, it filled the office with a golden light which was
almost musical in the way it made all the commonplace objects of efficiency
shine with a sudden sad and noble significance. And the light, now that
he noticed it, made the utterance of his perverse and unwanted request
even more momentous.
The secretary consulted the engagement pad. "He'll be free any
minute. Don't you want to wait in the parlor?"
She threw open the door of the large and pleasant room in which
the Dean held his Committee meetings and in which his visitors waited.
It was designed with a homely elegance on the masculine side of the
eighteenth century manner. There was a small coal-fire in the grate
and the handsome mahogany table was strewn with books and maga–
zines. The large windows gave on the snowy lawn and there was such
a fine width of window that the white casements and walls seemed at this
moment but a continuation of the snow, the snow but an extension of
casement and walls. The outdoors seemed taken in and made safe, the
indoors seemed luxuriously freshened and expanded.
Howe sat down by the fire and lighted a cigarette. The room had
ita
intended effect upon him. He felt comfortable and relaxed, yet nicely
organized, some young diplomatic agent of the eighteenth century, the
newly fledged Swift carrying out Sir William Temple's business. The
rawness of Tertan's case quite vanished. He crossed his legs and reached
for a magazine.
