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ed to know the meaning of； the everlasting anecdotes about tiger…shoots and what smith said to jones in poona in ‘87。 it’s a sort of little world of their own that they’ve created； like a kind of cyst。 to me； of course； it was all quite new and in some ways rather interesting。 old vincent； hilda’s father； had been not only in india but also in some even more outlandish place； borneo or sarawak； i forget which。 he was the usual type； pletely bald； almost invisible behind his moustache； and full of stories about cobras and cummerbunds and what the district collector said in ‘93。 hilda’s mother was so colourless that she was just like one of the faded photos on the wall。 there was also a son； harold； who had some official job in ceylon and was home on leave at the time when i first met hilda。 they had a little dark house in one of those buried back…streets that exist in ealing。 it smelt perpetually of trichinopoly cigars and it was so full of spears； blow…pipes； brass ornaments； and the heads of wild animals that you could hardly move about in it。
old vincent had retired in 1910； and since then he and his wife had shown about as much activity； mental or physical； as a couple of shellfish。 but at the time i was vaguely impressed by a family which had had majors； colonels； and once even an admiral in it。 my attitude towards the vincents； and theirs towards me； is an interesting illustration of what fools people can be when they get outside their own line。 put me among business people—whether they’re pany directors or mercial travellers—and i’m a fairly good judge of character。 but i had no experience whatever of the officer…rentier…clergyman class； and i was inclined to kow… tow to these decayed throw…outs。 i looked on them as my social and intellectual superiors； while they on the other hand mistook me for a rising young businessman who before long would be pulling down the big dough。 to people of that kind； ‘business’； whether it’s marine insurance or selling peanuts； is just a dark mystery。 all they know is that it’s something rather vulgar out of which you can make money。 old vincent used to talk impressively about my being ‘in business’—once； i remember； he had a slip of the tongue and said ‘in trade’—and obviously didn’t grasp the difference between being in business as an employee and being there on your own account。 he had some vague notion that as i was ‘in’ the flying salamander i should sooner or later rise to the top of it； by a process of promotion。 i think it’s possible that he also had pictures of himself touching me for fivers at some future date。 harold certainly had。 i could see it in his eye。 in fact； even with my ine being what it is； i’d probably be lending money to harold at this moment if he were alive。 luckily he died a few years after we were married； of enteric or something； and both the old vincents are dead too。
well； hilda and i were married； and right from the start it was a flop。 why did you marry her？ you say。 but why did you marry yours？ these things happen to us。 i wonder whether you’ll believe that during the first two or three years i had serious thoughts of killing hilda。 of course in practice one never does these things； they’re only a kind of fantasy that one enjoys thinking about。 besides； chaps who murder their wives always get copped。 however cleverly you’ve faked the alibi； they know perfectly well that it’s you who did it； and they’ll pin it on to you somehow。 when a woman’s bumped off； her husband is always the first suspect—which gives you a little side…glimpse of what people really think about marriage。
one gets used to everything in time。 after a year or two i stopped wanting to kill her and started wondering about her。 just wondering。 for hours； sometimes； on sunday afternoons or in the evening when i’ve e home from work； i’ve lain on my bed with all my clothes on except my shoes； wondering about women。 why they’re like that； how they get like that； whether they’re doing it on purpose。 it seems to be a most frightful thing； the suddenness with which some women go to pieces after they’re married。 it’s as if they were strung up to do just that one thing； and the instant they’ve done it they wither off like a flower that’s set its seed。 what really gets me down is the dreary attitude towards life that it implies。 if marriage was just an open swindle—if the woman trapped you into it and then turned round and said； ‘now； you bastard； i’ve caught you and you’re going to work for me while i have a good time！’—i wouldn’t mind so much。 but not a bit of it。 they don’t want to have a good time； they merely want to slump into middle age as quickly as possible。 after the frightful battle of getting her man to the altar； the woman kind of relaxes； and all her youth； looks； energy； and joy of life just vanish overnight。 it was like that with hilda。 here was this pretty； delicate girl； who’d seemed to me—and in fact when i first knew her she was—a finer type of animal than myself； and within only about three years she’d settled down into a depressed； lifeless； middle…aged frump。 i’m not denying that i was part of the reason。 but whoever she’d married it would have been much the same。
what hilda lacks—i discovered this about a week after we were married—is any kind of joy in life； any kind of interest in things for their own sake。 the idea of doing things because you enjoy them is something she can hardly understand。 it was through hilda that i first got a notion of what these decayed middle…class families are really like。 the essential fact about them is that all their vitality has been drained away by lack of money。 in families like that； which live on tiny pensions and annuities— that’s to say on ines which never get bigger and generally get smaller—there’s more sense of poverty； more crust…wiping； and looking twice at sixpence； than you’d find in any farm…labourer’s family； let alone a family like mine。 hilda’s often told me that almost the first thing she can remember is a ghastly feeling that there was never enough money for anything。 of course； in that kind of family； the lack of money is always at its worst when the ki