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Flushing was already dotting and striping her canvas, her head jerking this way and that with the action of a bird nervously picking up grain; the others had books or pieces of paper or embroidery on their knees, at which they looked fitfully and again looked at the river ahead. At one point Hewet read part of a poem aloud, but the number of moving things entirely vanquished his words.
Then they were all silent, looking at the river swirling past in front of them between the trunks of the trees until Mr. Flushing interrupted them. He broke out of the trees a hundred yards to the left, exclaiming sharply: "Ah, so you found the way after all. But it's late much later than we arranged, Hewet."
I'm very fond of Hewet, but he hasn't the remotest idea what I'm like. You're the only woman I've ever met who seems to have the faintest conception of what I mean when I say a thing."
"No, I am ashamed to say I have only read about the discoveries in Crete," said Miss Allan. "Oh, but I would give so much to realise the ancient world!" cried Mrs. Thornbury. "Now that we old people are alone, we're on our second honeymoon, I am really going to put myself to school again. After all we are founded on the past, aren't we, Mr. Hewet?
It did not seem worth while to piece together so slight a friendship. Hewet, indeed, might have found excellent material at this time up at the villa for some chapters in the novel which was to be called "Silence, or the Things People don't say." Helen and Rachel had become very silent. Having detected, as she thought, a secret, and judging that Rachel meant to keep it from her, Mrs.
Ambrose would now try to dissuade her from going. He was annoyed by all this space and shade and beauty, and Hirst, recumbent, drooping a magazine from his wrist. "I'm going," he repeated. "Rachel needn't come unless she wants to." "If you go, Hewet, I wish you'd make enquiries about the prostitute," said Hirst. "Look here," he added, "I'll walk half the way with you."
I knew I liked you the very first night at dinner. Oh dear," she continued impatiently, "what a lot of bother would be saved if only people would say the things they think straight out! I'm made like that. I can't help it." "But don't you find it leads to difficulties?" Hewet asked. "That's men's fault," she answered. "They always drag it in-love, I mean."
Hewet," she added, "I know it would cheer him up lying there in bed all day and the flies But I must go and find Angelo the food here of course, with an invalid, one wants things particularly nice." And she hurried past them in search of the head waiter.
"My other novel," Hewet continued, "is about a young man who is obsessed by an idea the idea of being a gentleman. He manages to exist at Cambridge on a hundred pounds a year. He has a coat; it was once a very good coat. But the trousers they're not so good. Well, he goes up to London, gets into good society, owing to an early-morning adventure on the banks of the Serpentine.
Flushing on the ground that her orange plume did not suit her complexion, that she spoke too loud, that she crossed her legs, and finally, when he saw her accept a cigarette that Hewet offered her, he jumped up, exclaiming something about "bar parlours," and left them. Mrs. Flushing was evidently relieved by his departure.
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