♪ ♪ AUNT JULEY: What sort of people are these Wilcoxes, Margaret?

We met them in Germany.

♪ ♪ Are you aware that Paul has been playing the fool with that girl?

RUTH: They do not love any longer.

It's been a disgusting business.

LEONARD: That lady has quite inadvertently taken my umbrella.

Come down with me now to Howards End.

MARGARET: Some other day?

Forgive me, I am so sorry.

Why, Ruth!

RUTH: Miss Schlegel, our little outing must be another day.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (birds twittering) (bird cawing) ♪ ♪ (bird squawking) REVEREND: Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take unto Himself the soul of our dear sister here departed, we therefore commit her body to the ground.

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.

In sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life... ...who shall change the body of our low estate that it will be like unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby He is able to subdue all things unto Himself.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Mr. Wilcox, I'm so dreadfully sorry.

Miss Schlegel, you are very good to come.

Very good.

♪ ♪ (train rumbling) ♪ ♪ (knock at door) The post has come, Father.

Thanks-- put it down.

Was breakfast all right?

(quickly): Yes, thanks.

(stammers): Charles says do you want "The Times"?

No, I'll read it later.

Ring if you want anything, Father, will you?

I've all I want.

(door closes) (footsteps descending) Father's eaten nothing.

(exhales) CHARLES: I don't understand.

That is only a covering letter from the matron of the nursing home.

Yes, I see that.

The other is from your mother.

Yes, yes.

MR. WILCOX: Sealed inside.

I'm sorry, Father.

I don't understand.

Who is Miss Schlegel?

Miss Schlegel?!

Yes, she, uh, came down to the funeral service.

She visited your mother at the nursing home.

I know who she is.

CHARLES: She was a sort of friend of Mother's.

Yes.

EVIE: Oh, and what does it say?

"To my dear husband, "I should like Miss Margaret Schlegel to have Howards End."

What?!

(clears throat): No date, no signature.

It has been forwarded from the matron of the nursing home.

Now, the question is... DOLLY: It can't be legal!

Houses ought to be done by lawyers, Charles, surely.

Give it to her, Charles.

Why, it's only in pencil!

I said so.

Pencil never counts.

We know it is not legally binding, Dolly.

Please, don't interfere.

EVIE: But she can't have meant to give Howards End to Miss Schlegel.

I agree, it's very unlike her.

You don't think Miss Schlegel...

Whether she unduly... No, no, I don't think that!

EVIE: Don't think what, Father?

That she would... That it's a case of undue influence.

No, no.

To my mind, the, uh, question is... (sighs) It's your mother's condition at the time that she wrote.

The house meant so much to her.

It isn't like her to leave it to an outsider who'd never appreciate...

The whole thing is very unlike her.

Well, what about Miss Schlegel?

Presumably she knows.

Mother would've told her.

She got twice or three times into the nursing home.

Presumably, she's expecting developments.

What a horrid woman.

Why, she could be coming down to turn us out now.

I wish she would, I could then deal with her.

So could I.

But she won't come.

You're all a bit hard on Miss Schlegel.

Your mother admired her.

Miss Schlegel was very kind to her.

She was kind to visit your mother when she was ill. That Paul business was pretty scandalous.

I want no more of the Paul business, Charles.

Upon my soul, she is honest.

But those chrysanthemums.

Or coming down to the funeral at all.

MR. WILCOX: Why should she not come down?

Certainly, she should not have sent such flowers, but they may have seemed the right thing to her.

And for all you know, it may be the custom in Germany.

Oh, I forget she's a German.

That would explain a lot, I suppose.

But she isn't a German, she's only half-German.

But what about this letter?

Surely she had no claim on Howards End.

Even if Mother...

The letter is in pencil.

And your mother cannot have been herself when it was written.

There we are.

Charles, I'll take the newspaper now, please, if you've finished reading it.

I jolly well wish she would come down here.

Charles, will you give me that newspaper!

Here, Father.

Thank you, Evie.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Oh, you're back!

You're back!

It was absolutely heaving.

♪ ♪ Anyway, Frieda took me there.

And then after that we went out for this amazing... (Helen continues indistinctly) ♪ ♪ MARGARET: Helen.

I told you about poor Mrs. Wilcox, that sad business?

Yes, I was sorry to hear it.

I had a correspondence from her son, Charles.

He was winding up the estate and he wrote to ask whether his mother had wanted me to have anything.

Did he?

I thought it was very good of him, considering I knew her for so little.

I said that she once spoke of giving me a Christmas present, but we forgot about it afterwards.

I hope Charles took the hint.

Yes.

Well, that is to say, her husband wrote on.

He thanked me for being a little kind to her.

He hoped that this wasn't the end of our acquaintance, but that you and I will go and stop with Evie some time in the future.

I like Mr. Wilcox.

He's taking up his work-- rubber.

It's a big business.

I think it...

Yes.

It is the business of killing black Africans in the Congo.

Oh, Tibby!

Shut up, Tibby!

Ask your pious lecturing friends if it isn't.

Women don't understand economics.

I am sure Mr. Wilcox is not a murderer.

How do you think they get the rubber out of the trees, hm?

They get great gangs of natives out of the villages, and put them into camps and set them about pulling the rubber out of the trees, boiling it in great vats, and then they shoot them if they try to run away.

Didn't you tell me he runs the Imperial Rubber Company of West Africa or some such company, Helen?

That's not in the Congo.

I really don't remember.

Certainly he's murdering someone.

It is not funny, you know.

What I wanted to tell you, Helen, is that Mr. Wilcox actually gave me his wife's silver vinaigrette.

Don't you think that's extraordinarily generous?

It makes me like him very much.

It's lovely.

I suppose the silver doesn't come from an African silver mine.

I'm sure somebody died mining it.

(people talking in background) ♪ ♪ (playing ragtime tune) Helen, I was just across the street, and I saw Charles Wilcox.

You'll never guess what.

They're moving out.

(continues playing) What do you think about that?

(finishes with chord, then continues) (piano fades) (footsteps echoing) (footsteps echoing) ♪ ♪ (bell rings) (men talking in background) ♪ ♪ (object rattling) ♪ ♪ (strikes match) (gas lights) (drops match) (paper rustling) ♪ ♪ What's the matter, Len?

You've not been yourself lately.

You do love me, don't ya?

Jacky, you know I do.

But... (drops utensil) Well, what is it?

Well, just... You will make it all right, won't you, Len?

Between us, I mean.

I've said so, haven't I?

Don't be angry.

Haven't I said so a dozen times?

Yes, you have, Len, it's just... Cecile told the most dreadful story today about a girl she knows... Well, what's that got to do with me?

Nothing, darling.

Don't be angry.

Only... Only it's not right we keep pretending.

You will make it all right, won't you, Len?

I can't have you ask me that again!

I'm sorry.

My word is my word.

I will marry you as soon as ever I'm 21.

It, it's not long now.

I know, darling.

But I can't keep on being worried!

(breath trembles) When a man gives his word...

If my brother knew about us...

I know, I'm sorry.

Haven't I worried enough?

Look at that.

That's another cuff gone!

I'll mend it for you.

That's six miles walking all this week to pay for a new pair.

I shall be for it if anyone notices.

I'm sorry.

I am.

I can't breathe in here.

It's too closed up.

♪ ♪ (door slams loudly) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (breathing and footsteps echoing) ♪ ♪ (Helen playing ragtime tune) What the devil are you playing?

Isn't it lovely?

No, it is not-- you're giving me a headache.

Both of you are giving me a headache.

Do stop quarreling.

I've another one here called "Who Threw The Overalls in Mrs. Murphy's Chowder?"

TIBBY: Meg!

Oh, please, do stop quarreling.

TIBBY: Sorry.

(Helen stops playing) What's in that letter, Meg?

Bad news?

Oh, it's only a letter reminding us the lease has expired and we have until May to clear out.

(doorbell rings) I know it doesn't rate as one of life's great tragedies.

We knew it was coming, but it's still a bit of a shock.

Good God, where will we move?

(piano chair scrapes) HELEN: I expect we'll find someplace, Meg.

Don't be too downhearted.

Yes, luckily, we have some money, too.

What is it, Annie?

This lady, ma'am, she... Good afternoon.

Have I the honor of speaking to Miss Margaret Schlegel?

No, I'm Helen.

(continue speaking in hall) I don't know why I should be so upset.

It's been such a happy house.

Why does it have to be swept away?

(playing classical piece) HELEN: Meg!

(piece continues) Helen, whatever is the matter?

It's all right, Annie.

How do you do?

I'm Miss Schlegel.

Good afternoon, Miss Schlegel.

(all talking at once) Yes, I'm Margaret.

I've come in search of my husband, Mr. Bast, who I have some reason to believe may be visiting the premises.

(stammering): If, if I may be so bold.

It's all right.

Annie, will you go?

MARGARET: Annie, thank you.

Yes, miss.

ANNIE: I'm terribly sorry, miss.

Now, Mrs....

I'm so sorry... Bast, miss.

Mrs. Leonard Bast, as I think Miss Schlegel has good reason to understand, without her being told twice by me.

I'm afraid I don't quite.

(piano stops) TIBBY (sighing): I say, what is all the hullabaloo?

Can't a chap play the piano in peace and quiet?

Go away, Tibby.

Why don't you tell us what this is about, Mrs. Bast?

(unclasps purse): I think perhaps, Miss Schlegel, that the explanation rests on the other side, if you please.

But I don't understand.

That is your card, is it not?

Yes, an old one, by the look of it.

Then will you please oblige me by explaining how my husband came to have it, and where he might be at this moment?

And if he is here, I should like a word with him, if you don't mind.

Here?

Your husband?

HELEN: We don't know who your husband is.

Well, truly, we don't-- we've never met a Mr. Bast.

TIBBY: Yes, you have.

The chap with the umbrella at the Prince Regent's Hall.

HELEN: What?

Helen stole his brolly and Meg brought him home.

Aunt Juley was afraid he'd take the silver.

"Take the silver"?

HELEN: Don't be an idiot.

No.

No, no.

My Len take your silver?

You must remember.

No one has taken anything and no one is accused of taking anything.

This gentleman just said...

Please, would you come in for some tea?

I only said our aunt was afraid he'd take the silver.

We never thought so.

I wasn't so jolly sure... My Len would never steal so much as a lump of coal.

He hadn't the time to take the silver or anything else.

Tibby, be quiet!

(quietly): He was only here ten minutes.

Won't you come in?

(voice breaking): No, no.

No, thank you, Miss Schlegel.

I just...

I want my Len, and I can see now I was wrong.

Oh, please, what's become of him?

Tibby, do go away at once.

HELEN: So kind, Mrs. Bast, and tell us what it is you want.

I just want my husband and I thought he might be here.

Why would you imagine that?

Because he'd got your card, Meg.

But if he's missing, oughtn't we to call the police?

No, no, thank you, miss.

(stammering): I'm so sorry.

Please let me go.

(others talking at once) May I have the card, please?

Surely, but why?

Len'll be furious if he knows I've come here.

Goodness, he won't strike you?

My Len?

Put his hands on me?

Oh, miss, please.

(opens door): I do so beg your pardon.

(door closes) (sighs) HELEN: How extraordinary.

Poor girl.

It's all right now, Annie, no one's to blame.

Yes, miss.

Thank you, miss.

(sighing): Oh, Helen.

So often I feel we live chattering away at the edge of a great abyss.

I don't want to close my eyes to it or comfortably pretend it isn't there, but I don't want to live in it.

Is that very wicked and selfish of me?

It's better than your friends the Wilcoxes, who batter their way through the abyss pulling heaps of money from it.

TIBBY: Not the Wilcoxes.

That's wrong and unfair.

At least they live in the world and not on it, or, or above it.

(scoffing): What?

Don't make fun, Tibby.

MARGARET: Oh, I'm tired of the whole subject.

(Tibby playing piano) I despise proofs and I despise cant.

I loathe taking positions.

I can only react to feelings.

They're the only guide that matters.

HELEN: Yes, I think so, too.

The personal is what's important.

Your precious Ws don't think so?

Even the Ws will come face to face with the personal someday.

(Tibby resumes playing) Dearest Meg, there we differ.

I have seen, rather up close, I'm afraid, what they are like in a crisis.

A rather small and tawdry one, I grant you-- mine.

But I'm afraid that for them, the personal was a whirlwind which they refused to see, and which knocked them about the room while they tried to... sort out the best policy using practical business methods, which don't include whirlwinds in the balance sheet.

They were quite undone because the main force in the room was invisible to them.

But you said the best thing about them was how they treated Mrs. Wilcox, didn't you?

Yes.

That shows something fine in them, doesn't it?

(quietly): Yes... TIBBY: This passage is deuced difficult.

Can you imagine, really imagine, writing it when he was deaf?

Let alone playing it.

Tibby, when do you go back to Oxford?

I've just come back.

Might not go back at all.

Oh, but you must go, Tibby.

You have to go back, Tibby!

You can't live on your inheritance, you know?

Yours and Meg's supports the two of you-- why shouldn't mine?

MARGARET: Because you're a man, Tibby.

Yes, you are.

You must work.

It's a universal impulse.

I thought you were opposed to cant and principles and positions and cared only for feelings and personal relations.

Oh, I don't know what I think anymore at this moment, except that I wish the two of you would stop using the piano as a form of self-expression.

It's very wearing.

Oh, dear Meg.

TIBBY: It's only Beethoven.

I'm sorry.

That woman upset me, she really did.

And the letter.

Where shall we live?

I don't want to move.

I've lived here all my life and now it's to be swept away and turned into another block of flats like Wickham Mansions.

I don't see why they should have the right to do that to every family on the street, even if they do own the freehold of Wickham.

It's not just.

I know we shall find somewhere to live, but... TIBBY: That's how your Mr. W. would handle it.

Leave Meg alone.

Oh, yes, well, that's right.

When it's my chance to score, I'm told to be quiet.

When you're having a go at me...

Please, don't make me quarrel.

I want to go to my room, my head is bursting.

I'm sorry.

(plays softly) (footsteps echoing) ♪ ♪ (bell rings) (men talking in background) ♪ ♪ (men talking in background) ♪ ♪ (birds twittering) HELEN: Is that Mr. Bast?

MARGARET: It looks like him.

♪ ♪ HELEN: Do you suppose it's he?

MARGARET: Well, yes, it must be.

Annie, we'll be three for tea.

Yes, miss, will you have it in the drawing room?

Yes, Annie, thank you.

Now, Helen, don't let us act like fluttering idiots.

Oh, yes, I agree.

He's bound to be very ashamed of himself, and I want to make him feel at home.

I'm, think he'll be very grateful to find we didn't mind Mrs. Bast and nearly forgotten the entire incident.

Helen, I'm being serious.

So am I serious!

I won't have him treated like a social experiment.

Do open the door.

Well, he hasn't rung the bell.

If we open the door before he rings, he will certainly feel like a social experiment.

Please be quiet!

(knock at door) Yes?

Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

No doubt you can remember the last occasion on which we met.

Well, uh, not exactly.

We remember some of it.

MARGARET: My brother said that we stole your umbrella from the Prince Regent's.

Yes, they were playing Beethoven's Fifth that day.

We always go to the Fifth when they play it, but I do remember stealing your umbrella.

Oh, quite inadvertently.

I suppose you can guess the reason for my visit today.

Has it gone missing again?

Oh, Helen!

It hasn't-- that's all right, all right, Miss Schlegel.

I'm so sorry.

What an idiotic joke-- would you like to come inside?

Yeah, thank you, I should like to explain.

MARGARET: We're just about to sit down for some tea, I do hope you'll join us.

I don't like to impose.

Oh, do not refuse us.

Oh, do, please!

Thanks.

I should be very happy to.

Won't you come this way?

Thank you.

(birds twittering) After you.

Thank you.

(door closes) I still don't understand.

I went walking.

That's all.

I walked all night.

You see... MARGARET: Did you?

HELEN: Did you?

Yes.

While I was gone, however, Mrs. Bast needed me on important business and thought I'd come here owing to the card.

Why should she think that?

Well, a card belonging to a lady whose name she didn't know... HELEN: Why did you never tell her about your adventure, the time I took your umbrella?

Well, I didn't like to.

Why not?

I suppose it was a secret I wanted to keep for myself.

I don't blame her, but she should not have come here.

If I'd imagined...

It doesn't matter about that.

And all this time you were only walking?

Yes.

But how marvelous.

(chuckles softly) Was it?

Of course it was.

Where did you start from?

Tell us more.

I... Well, I took the Underground to Wimbledon and I had a bite to eat.

But not good country there, is it?

It was gas lamps for... hours.

I did get into the woods presently and...

Being out was the great thing.

HELEN: Were you walking alone, may I ask?

Yes.

I don't know where, nor for how long.

It got too dark to see my watch.

I rather fancy it was those North Downs, and then I found a road to a station and I, uh... Got the first train I could back to London.

Was the dawn wonderful?

No, the dawn was only grey-- nothing to mention.

Yes, just a grey evening turned upside down, I know.

Yes, yes, and, uh...

I was too tired to lift my head to look at it.

Looking back, it... wasn't what you'd call enjoyment.

It, it was more a case of sticking to it.

Hang it, what's the good in living in a room forever?

There one goes, one day after day.

Same old game, same up and down to town until you forget there is any other game.

Like, you ought to see one... once, in a way, what's going on outside.

I should just think you ought.

Yes.

(exhales) Have you ever read Richard Jefferies?

Yes.

Or George Borrow's "Stonehenge"?

Well, yes, of course we have, but, uh... Well... (places saucer down) I'm afraid, I'm afraid I've imposed too far on your kindness.

Thank you for the tea, um...

I must be going.

HELEN: Well, why must you go?

Oh, you'll come another time, I hope?

♪ ♪ (man calling, dog barking) ♪ ♪ (keys jingling) ♪ ♪ (car passes outside) ♪ ♪ (hooves and footsteps passing) (gulls cawing, ship's horn blows) ♪ ♪ MARGARET: I say, Helen... HELEN: Well?

Do you think we'll really follow up Mr. Bast?

I don't know.

Do you think we might try to?

How do you do?

I thought I recognized your voices.

What are you both doing here?

Oh, what an age it has been since I last saw you, Mr. Wilcox.

We're just admiring the sunlight on the water.

(ship's horn blows) Now, tell me all your news.

Oh, we've had a splendid afternoon.

We belong to a club that reads papers.

There's a discussion after.

Today was on how one ought to leave one's money, whether to a friend or to the poor, and if so, how?

Most interesting.

Sounds the most original entertainment.

I wish my Evie would go in for that sort of thing.

She's taken to breeding Aberdeen terriers.

(chuckles) We pretend we're improving ourselves, you see.

Doubtless you find it wasteful.

Not at all, no.

Nothing like a debate to teach you to be quick.

It doesn't matter much on what subject.

Does it not?

Oh, no, we won't argue.

I'll just put our special case to Mr. Wilcox.

He knows about the poor and what's to be done with them.

Oh, I don't know about that.

(chuckling): Helen only means that... We've just come across a young fellow who's evidently very poor indeed, although he aspires to higher things, however awkwardly, and he got mixed up in our debate.

Yes?

What's his profession?

Clerk.

Clerk.

What in?

What in?

Oh, do you remember, Helen?

The Porphyrion Fire Insurance Company.

Porphyrion?

That's it.

Oh, well, in that case he should make his excuses and... Now, how should such a man be helped?

Should he be given £300 a year direct?

Which was Margaret's plan.

Should he and those like him be given free libraries?

My suggestion was that he be given something every year towards a summer holiday, but then there's his wife... My dear Miss Schlegel, I, I will not rush in where your sex has been unable to tread... Oh, why ever not?

Helen, Mr. Wilcox will think you rude.

Will he?

I'm, I'm sorry.

MR. WILCOX: Not at all, however, I am afraid that my only contribution would be to let your young friend clear out of the Porphyrion Fire Insurance Company with all possible speed.

Why?

I oughtn't to have spoken, but I, uh, happen to know, being more or less behind the scenes, that it'll be in the receiver's hands before Easter.

Porphyrion is a bad, bad concern.

Don't say I said so.

It's outside the Tariff Ring.

Well, certainly, we won't say.

We don't know what it means.

The Tariff Ring is an association of insurance companies.

I thought an insurance company never smashed.

Don't the others always run in and save them?

You're thinking of re-insurance.

It's exactly there that the Porphyrion is weak, I'm afraid.

We must warn Mr. Bast.

Oh, yes-- well, thank you ever so much, Mr. Wilcox.

Oh, no.

Are you still at Wickham Place?

No-- yes.

We've got to move out by May.

Oh, I'm sorry.

We've just taken a place in Ducie Street, very near to Sloane Street.

And a, and a place down in Shropshire-- Oniton Grange.

Have you heard of Oniton?

Mm-mm.

Oh, do come and visit us.

Right away from everywhere, it's up towards Wales.

Oh, we shall.

And Howards End?

Oh, it's let.

Oh, what change.

I can't imagine Howards End or Hilton existing without you.

I should have kept such a remarkable place in the family.

Oh, it is.

It is, I haven't sold it, I don't mean to.

No, but none of you are there.

And we have a splendid tenant now, a Mr. Bryce-- an invalid.

Charles and his wife live very near the old place.

I forget whether you've been up there.

At the house, never.

Oh.

Well... Oh, do remind Evie to come and see us.

2 Wickham Place.

We shan't be there much longer, either.

Everyone moving.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

♪ ♪ HELEN (voiceover): Dear Mr. Bast, would you do us the kindness of stopping at Wickham Place tomorrow at teatime?

We should be so glad to see you.

Your friend, Helen Schlegel.

♪ ♪ MARGARET: How do you like your work?

LEONARD: My work?

Yes.

Oh, well enough.

MARGARET: Your company is the Porphyrion, isn't it?

Yes, that's so.

We were told the Porphyrion's no go.

We, we wanted to tell you.

That's why we wrote.

I see.

A friend of ours did say he thinks it's insufficiently re-insured.

And he advised us to tell you to clear out by Easter.

He did not advise us.

He said that it was bound to smash by Easter.

He did not advise us to say so.

You can tell your friend he's quite wrong.

Oh, good.

Our friend, who is also a businessman, was so positive.

And he advised you to clear out of it.

He's made quite a lot of money.

I'm not one of those who mind their affairs being spoken of by others.

Oh, I am glad.

Men are so tactful, women have no tact.

Our friend is quite rich, you see, and seems to have a hand in all manners of concerns.

Quite so.

But I don't see why he should know better than you do.

One can but see.

As Ibsen says, "Things happen."

ANNIE: Mr. Wilcox and Miss Wilcox.

MR. WILCOX: In you go.

(puppies yapping) Hello!

(Margaret and Helen exclaiming, Mr. Wilcox laughs) (laughing): Hello.

We brought the little fellows round.

I bred them myself.

This is Ahab and that's Jezebel.

Oh, really?

Mr. Bast, come play with puppies.

Mr. Wilcox, Mr. Bast.

I must be going now.

Must you really?

Come again.

No, no, I shan't.

But...

I call that a very rude remark.

MR. WILCOX: Are we intruding, Miss Schlegel, or can we be of any use?

It's all right, Mr. Wilcox.

I... Good day.

(puppies yapping) Helen, go after him.

Ought she to?

Can I help you now?

No, it's all right-- thank you, I'm very sorry.

He's a nice creature, really.

I cannot think what set him off.

Oh!

(chuckles) (laughs) (Mr. Wilcox chuckles) Where are you going?

What do you want to turn on me like that for?

You ask me why I turned on you?

Yes!

What do you want to have me in there for?

To help you, you silly boy.

And don't shout.

Why should you help me?

Why should I not help you?

Because... Well...

I don't want your patronage.

I don't want your tea.

I was quite happy.

What do you want to unsettle me for?

Well, why should you say so?

What are you looking for?

My hat.

Annie!

Uh, will you please bring Mr. Bast his hat?

Yes, miss.

When you asked me to tea, I...

Yes.

Of course, if there's been a misunderstanding... We did not have you here out of charity, but because we hoped there would be a connection between last Sunday and other days.

We thought...

It's no good.

But... You don't want to discuss books with me or music or any of the things that I like.

Mr. Bast... And I can't discuss them in your easy way.

I don't know how, but I suppose they mean ever as much to me as they do to you.

We don't discuss them in an easy way.

You do!

You think I'm a... comic character.

I do not!

(footsteps approaching) Here you are, sir.

That's not mine.

Annie, you have brought the gentleman Mr. Wilcox's hat.

I'm sorry, miss.

I won't be a moment.

We don't think you're a comic character!

You do.

(stammering): You think I'm superficial if I want to talk about books, if I tell you about Carlyle, or... or, um... Ruskin.

Ruskin.

Yes, or Dos... Dostoevsky.

Oh, yes.

You don't care for Dostoevsky.

Well, I don't, no... TIBBY: Dostoevsky.

I mean, does anybody like him?

All that eternal... Tibby, please!

...fainting, screaming.

You can't cut a single page without someone collapsing on the floor.

HELEN: Tibby, go away!

Might I have my hat, do you suppose?

Yes, yes, I can't think where she's got to.

TIBBY: Would you be so good as to introduce me to this gentleman, Helen?

Look, I will not.

Go away, Tibby!

We have met before.

TIBBY: Have we?

I can't remember.

You're one of Meg and Helen's social experiments?

Tibby!

I'm sure I don't know.

I say, are you that poor devil of a clerk they have debates over at the Chelsea Women's Political Club?

He is not!

I'm sure I couldn't say.

I'm sure I should be honored if I were.

TIBBY: That's all right, then.

Where do you chaps stand on the suffrage question?

We don't get much of the working man's view in our circle.

Nancy!

I have no fixed opinion.

NANCY: Yes, miss?

No fixed opinion?

Can you find Annie, please?

She has disappeared with the gentleman's hat.

Yes, miss.

TIBBY: Make no mistake.

Lot of footle, if you ask me.

I say the world's gone off its onion.

Tibby, if you don't go this instant, I shall scream.

All right, then.

Mr. Bast, I...

Thank you for your advice about the Porphyrion.

I'm not a businessman like your friend.

He's not our friend.

I am only a clerk.

But even a clerk... No, it's useless.

But we're not... We only... ANNIE: Here you are.

Your hat, sir.

Annie, whatever has been keeping you?

I'm sorry, miss, I got muddled and... Oh, it's all right.

(clock ticking) Miss Schlegel, all I can do is go.

Thank you for trying to help me.

Goodbye.

(front door opens and closes) But who was he?

He was the young man we were to warn against the Porphyrion.

We warn him, and look.

Miss Schlegel, may I speak to you as a friend?

Yes, of course.

In that case, well, oughtn't you to be more careful?

Careful?

You're too kind.

Yes, indeed.

MR. WILCOX: You behave much too well to people and then they impose on you.

When I came in and saw that young man, I could tell straight away that you weren't treating him properly.

Um, I know the type.

You have to keep them at a distance or they take advantage.

It's sad but true.

Let me explain why we like this young man and why we want to see him again.

EVIE: Oh, you shall never make me believe that you really like him.

We do.

We do.

I'm afraid that you and your sister... We want to show him how he may get upsides with life, something to relieve life's daily grey.

MR. WILCOX: Ah, well, that... That is where you make your mistake, Miss Schlegel, and it is a great mistake.

Yes, indeed.

Evie.

Where?

I mean, why?

This young man has his own life!

What right have you to conclude it is an unsuccessful one, or, as you call it, grey?

Because... One minute.

Well... One minute.

You know nothing of him.

He, he probably has his own joys and interests.

A wife, children, snug little home.

I look at the, the faces of the clerks in my own office.

I don't know what's going on beneath-- I don't presume to.

So, by the way, with London.

Yes?

What do you know about London?

Yesterday, you were pleased to admire the sunlight on the Thames at high tide.

Well, the tide is higher, and the sunlight more pleasant because my fellow capitalists and I have shares in the lock at Teddington.

Now we've shortened the tidal trough under London Bridge.

Result?

Higher tides for shipping.

More sunlight on the water.

Yes, I see.

You do have a nice way of taking the poetry out of everything, Mr. Wilcox.

Why should you say so?

If your poetry means what you say it does, why should it not be proof against a piece of civil engineering, which means millions of pounds a year in reduced shipping costs?

For every sort of business under the sun.

Your mistake, Miss Schlegel, is only to see civilization from the outside.

All I can say is that we like this young man and we see something fine in him.

Miss Schlegel, you're a pair of charitable creatures, but you really ought to be more careful in this, uh, uncharitable world.

What about your brother?

What does he say?

As the man of the house, oughtn't he to take an interest?

Excuse me, I must see what Helen is doing.

Well... (footsteps descending) MARGARET: Helen?

Are you all alone?

Yes.

He's been gone some time.

But what happened?

It's all right.

Such a muddle of a man.

I like him so much.

Well, come back to the Wilcoxes and tell me later.

Mr. W.'s much concerned and slightly titillated.

(groans) Oh, I have no patience with him-- I hate him.

You hate him?

I thought him rather splendid.

Only because you dissect him.

And why should you say so?

Don't you dissect Mr. Bast?

I don't.

You do-- we both do.

We're always dissecting people.

It does sound rather disgusting when you say it like that.

♪ ♪ Come play with puppies.

And don't discuss Mr. Bast with the Wilcoxes.

They don't understand him.

♪ ♪ (horse nickers) ♪ ♪ (front door opens) (door shuts) (footsteps approach) (Helen sighs) Hello!

Where have you been?

HELEN AND MARGARET: Looking at houses.

I do wish you'd find something.

I can't bear to look at any more.

I don't know what I'm looking for.

What are we going to do with all this furniture?

And Father's books?

We're simply running out of time.

We are to go nowhere and to be at home for no one until we've found a house.

(doorbell rings) (coins jingling) (door closes) It's from Evie Wilcox, inviting me to lunch at Simpson's tomorrow with her fiancé, Mr. Cahill.

"The three of us can have a jolly chat."

Egads.

It is kind of her to remember.

Perhaps I misjudged her.

She's so excessively athletic.

Perhaps it blocks out her other good qualities.

I don't see why she invites me and not you.

I thought she disliked me.

Perhaps it is a ploy to drive you into the arms of her father.

Do you think so?

It would save us the trouble of finding a house.

Yes, that's true.

Will you go?

Oh, I must.

(chuckles) Stalwart Meg!

(people talking in background) EVIE: Did I tell you Father might be at the party?

Yes, there he is.

Thought I'd get round if I could.

When I heard about Evie's little plan, I slipped in to secure a table-- always secure a table first.

And tip the carver, that's the golden rule.

"Tip everywhere" is my motto.

Now, Evie, don't pretend you want to sit by your old father, because I know you don't.

Miss Schlegel, come round my side.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ MR. WILCOX: How is your discussion society getting on?

Any new utopias?

No.

My goodness, you look tired.

Have you been worrying after your young clerks?

No, houses.

Ah.

Do you know of any?

No, I'm afraid I don't.

What's that, Father?

We must find a new home in May.

Someone has to find it-- I can't.

Percy, do you know of anything?

Can't say I do.

Oh, how like you.

You're never any good.

PERCY: Never any good?

Just listen to her.

Never any good!

Oh, come.

Well, you aren't!

Miss Schlegel, is he?

Miss Schlegel, Gruyère or Stilton?

Gruyère, please.

Better have Stilton.

Evie?

Stilton, please.

Mr. Cahill?

Have any Gouda?

Of course they haven't any Gouda at Simpson's.

He'll have the Stilton.

I don't want Stilton.

You should have whatever you like, Mr. Cahill.

Don't let Evie bully you.

How about a nice bit of Altenburger Ziegenkäse?

I beg your pardon?

Altenburger Ziegenkäse.

Saxon, or Thuringian, depending on one's loyalties.

Gets a bit gooey in the warm weather, but otherwise it's excellent-- I suppose you've run out.

I'm afraid... (laughing): Well done, Miss Schlegel!

Very well done!

(chuckles) I'll have the Gruyère.

Thank you, sir.

Are you coming with us to the Hippodrome, Miss Schlegel?

No, thank you, I must go back to my house hunting.

Oh, but you must!

It's meant to be marvelous.

They release 300,000 gallons of water on a village wedding, and sweep away the huntsmen and all show folk and the entire wedding party into oblivion!

I should be sorry to miss that.

They say it's very realistic.

Yes, but why put Aimee Roberts on stage only to sweep her off again along with 300,000 gallons of water and a lot of huntsmen?

Why come to Simpson's to get a French cheese?

You see?

See how she chafes me?

How's your house?

Ducie Street?

Uh, much the same.

Comfortable enough.

I didn't mean Ducie Street, I meant Howards End, of course.

MR. WILCOX: Why "of course"?

MARGARET: Can't you turn out your tenants and let it to us instead?

We're nearly demented.

EVIE: We couldn't do that.

It's let for three years.

Well, can't you help us, Mr. Wilcox?

We're merely looking for a small house with large rooms, and plenty of them.

I wish I could.

Uh, a piece of advice: fix your district and your price, and then don't budge.

That's how I got both Ducie Street and the house in Oniton.

I thought to myself, "I mean to be exactly here."

And I was-- thank you.

♪ ♪ Thank you ever so much, Mr. Wilcox.

Next time, you shall come to lunch with me at Mr. Eustace Miles.

Pleasure.

No, you'll hate it.

It's full of proteins and body-buildings, and people coming up to you, "Begging your pardon, but you have such a beautiful aura."

What?

(chuckles) ♪ ♪ Do you know, I suspect Mr. Wilcox of planning the whole entertainment.

Not really?

I meant that as a joke.

Yes, but if you reflect, I was very fond of his wife.

She really was an extraordinary person.

You still think so, don't you?

Oh, yes.

He's always preferred me to you, which most men don't.

Well, that's something in his favor, anyhow.

Chaperone you and Mr. Wilcox at lunch at Eustace Miles?

Are you mad?

Yes.

I want to ask him.

He promised to go.

He promised to eat proteins and body builders.

(straining): But you don't really need a chaperone at your age.

It may surprise you, Tibby, to learn that I'm only 28.

It does, rather.

I dare say you think of me as an old maid, but I can't go to lunch with a single gentleman unchaperoned.

That's flat.

If you don't go, I can't invite him.

All right, then.

(people talking and laughing in background) Oh, how lovely to meet you!

How delighted I am!

(talking in background) This is ghastly.

What do you think of it, Mr. Wilcox?

I told you that you would hate it.

Not at all, not at all.

It may not suit every taste, but it...

It's widely known to be the healthiest kind of food.

Tell me, though, Miss Schlegel, do you, uh... Do you really believe in the supernatural?

Auras and astral planes?

That's too big a question.

No, it isn't.

Why's that?

Because although I don't believe in auras and think theosophy may only be a halfway house...

There may be something there after all?

Not even that.

Maybe halfway in the wrong direction.

I can't explain.

I don't believe in all these fads, but I don't like to say I don't believe in them.

I'm a little out of my depth.

Do you talk rather like this to your office boy?

I talk the same to everyone, or try to.

I don't believe in suiting my conversations to my company.

We can doubtless hit upon some medium of exchange that seems to do well enough, but there's no nourishment in it.

You pass it down to the lower classes, they pass it back up to you, and you call this a "mutual endeavor," when it's mutual priggishness if it's anything.

Our friends at Chelsea don't see this.

They say one ought to be, at all costs, intelligible and sacrifice... You do admit that there are rich and poor.

That's something.

But of course I do.

And you do admit that if wealth were divided equally, in a few years, there would be rich and poor again.

Well, everyone admits that.

Your socialists don't.

My socialists do.

Yours mayn't.

I don't care.

You just made two damaging admissions and I'm heartily with you in both.

TIBBY: Do, do you know that this wretched hash is called reform food?

Have you ever heard such a monstrous combination of words?

I think you're too severe, Mr. Schlegel.

I think one should try new things occasionally.

Yes, but not this.

I find it quite good.

Yes.

It's quite good.

♪ ♪ MR. WILCOX (voiceover): Dear Miss Schlegel... MARGARET: Perhaps we ought to give up for a while and go down to the seaside for a month.

AUNT JULEY: Oh, Margaret, do come.

London is so unhealthy at this time of year.

It's from Mr. Wilcox.

He's announcing an important change in his plans.

Who?

Mr. Wilcox.

Mr. Wilcox.

He says owing to Evie's marriage, he's decided to give up the house... Not your Wilcoxes, surely, Helen?

They're Meg's.

They are not.

MR. WILCOX (voiceover): Owing to Evie's marriage, I have decided to give up the house in Ducie Street.

"And to let it out in a yearly tenancy."

AUNT JULEY: Where?

At Ducie Street, where Mr. Wilcox lives.

But I thought that they had...

He writes, "If you and your family approve the rent, please notify him at once"-- that's underlined twice-- and I can go over the house with him.

He's in love with you.

Oh, really!

It's a very business-like letter.

Why should he be in love with me?

Why should he not be?

Good heavens!

You're not going to marry that old man from the protein restaurant?

Marry?

Margaret is engaged to marry?

Why shouldn't I, if he asks?

Oh, Meg, you wouldn't-- I'm only joking.

AUNT JULEY: Oh, well, I think someone might have told me.

There's nothing to tell, Aunt Juley.

I know he's been quite attentive.

HELEN: The idea's appalling!

He's a beast.

He has no human feeling.

He's not a beast.

You should've seen him humbly eating his protein builders at Eustace Miles.

No one could have been kinder.

I was proud of him.

Of Tibby, well, naturally.

Of Mr. Wilcox!

I'm sorry.

But what have I said?

Oh, honestly, Aunt Juley, nothing.

I'm only so anxious about finding a place to live.

AUNT JULEY: Well, how do I prevent you?

Oh, dear... You don't.

MARGARET: Now, children, what's it to be?

You all know Ducie Street.

Shall I say yes or shall I say no?

Tibby, which?

Especially I want to pin you both.

Say no.

Say yes.

That's decided, then.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ CHARLES: Margaret Schlegel monopolizing my father.

She always meant to get her hands on Howards End.

HENRY: I've had you here on false pretenses.

I am asking you to be my wife.

LEONARD: Dear Miss Schlegel, my circumstances have taken a turn.

(Jacky coughing) HELEN: Mr. Bast, you don't pretend your marriage has been a happy one.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ANNOUNCER: Go to our website, listen to our podcast, watch video, and more.

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