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Meanwhile, as he sat looking at them, he was entangled in the Thornburys and Miss Allan, who, after hovering about for a minute or two, settled in chairs round him, holding their cups in their hands. They wanted to know whether he could tell them anything about Mr. Bax. Mr.
Having shaken hands, she said, "That's my niece." Rachel approached awkwardly. She held out her hand, but withdrew it. "It's all wet," she said. Scarcely had they spoken, when the first carriage drew up. The donkeys were quickly jerked into attention, and the second carriage arrived. By degrees the grove filled with people the Elliots, the Thornburys, Mr.
"English people abroad!" she returned with a vivid flash of malice. "Ain't they awful! But we won't stay here," she continued, plucking at Rachel's arm. "Come up to my room." She bore her past Hewet and Evelyn and the Thornburys and the Elliots. Hewet stepped forward. "Luncheon " he began. "Miss Vinrace has promised to lunch with me," said Mrs.
"Thornburys" came next. "That nice woman," she nudged Rachel to look at Miss Allan. "What's her name?" The painted lady who always came in late, tripping into the room with a prepared smile as though she came out upon a stage, might well have quailed before Mrs. Flushing's stare, which expressed her steely hostility to the whole tribe of painted ladies. Next came the two young men whom Mrs.
The fact that the Ambroses had a house where one could escape momentarily from the slightly inhuman atmosphere of an hotel was a source of genuine pleasure not only to Hirst and Hewet, but to the Elliots, the Thornburys, the Flushings, Miss Allan, Evelyn M., together with other people whose identity was so little developed that the Ambroses did not discover that they possessed names.
Ambrose respected it carefully, but from that cause, though unintentionally, a curious atmosphere of reserve grew up between them. Instead of sharing their views upon all subjects, and plunging after an idea wherever it might lead, they spoke chiefly in comment upon the people they saw, and the secret between them made itself felt in what they said even of Thornburys and Elliots.
"I wrote 'em on the back of the envelope of my aunt's last letter," he said, and pulled it from between the pages of Sappho. "Well, let's hear them," said Hewet, slightly mollified by the prospect of a literary discussion. "My dear Hewet, do you wish us both to be flung out of the hotel by an enraged mob of Thornburys and Elliots?" Hirst enquired.
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