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It will take some time, but the view should be magnificent. It would give me great pleasure if you and Miss Vinrace would consent to be of the party. Yours sincerely, TERENCE HEWET Rachel read the words aloud to make herself believe in them. For the same reason she put her hand on Helen's shoulder. "More new books I wonder what you find in them. . . ."
"I see what you mean," she said, "but I don't agree. I do know why I care for people, and I think I'm hardly ever wrong. I see at once what they've got in them. Now I think you must be rather splendid; but not Mr. Hirst." Hewlet shook his head. "He's not nearly so unselfish, or so sympathetic, or so big, or so understanding," Evelyn continued. Hewet sat silent, smoking his cigarette.
Hewet was espoused by a more powerful advocate by Elizabeth, the best-beloved of Cromwell's daughters, who at the same time was in a delicate and precarious state of health. But it was in vain that she interceded for the man whose spiritual ministry she employed; Cromwell was inexorable. Both suffered death by decapitation.
Your book the poems of Wordsworth, which if you remember I took off your table just as we were starting, and certainly put in my pocket here " "Is lost," Hirst finished for him. "I consider that there is still a chance," Hewet urged, slapping himself to right and left, "that I never did take it after all." "No," said Hirst. "It is here." He pointed to his breast. "Thank God," Hewet exclaimed.
"And it makes one sorry for them too," Rachel continued, as though she were tracing the course of her feelings. "I don't know either of them, but I could almost burst into tears. That's silly, isn't it?" "Just because they're in love," said Hewet. "Yes," he added after a moment's consideration, "there's something horribly pathetic about it, I agree."
Hewet began to wonder whether he might not cross over to the Flushings' corner, when Hirst appeared from the background, slipped into a chair by Rachel's side, and began to talk to her with every appearance of familiarity. Hewet could stand it no longer. He rose, took his hat and dashed out of doors. Everything he saw was distasteful to him.
"I assure you there's nothing horrible about it," said Hewet, sitting up and laying hands upon the cake. "It's so natural," he repeated. "People with children should make them do that exercise every night. . . . Not that I look forward to being dead." "And when you allude to a grave," said Mr. Thornbury, who spoke almost for the first time, "have you any authority for calling that ruin a grave?
"Well, Hewet," he remarked, on the crest of a gigantic yawn, "that was a great success, I consider." He yawned. "But take care you're not landed with that young woman. . . . I don't really like young women. . . ." Hewet was too much drugged by hours in the open air to make any reply.
"But this isn't very interesting for you," she said, looking up. "Good Lord!" Hewet exclaimed. "I've never been so much interested in my life." She then realised that while she had been thinking of Richmond, his eyes had never left her face. The knowledge of this excited her. "Go on, please go on," he urged. "Let's imagine it's a Wednesday. You're all at luncheon.
"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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