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Updated: April 30, 2025
During the next few weeks, accordingly, nothing of importance happened, from the point of view of the Brackenhurst chronicler; though Bertram was constantly round at the Monteiths' garden for afternoon tea or a game of lawn-tennis. He was an excellent player; lawn-tennis was most popular "at home," he said, in that same mysterious and non-committing phrase he so often made use of.
And he reflected silently on the curious fact that the English give themselves by law fifty-two weekly holidays a year, and compel themselves by custom to waste them entirely in ceremonial observances. On the way to church, the Monteiths sifted out their new acquaintance. "Well, what do you make of him, Frida?"
When he returned that night to Brackenhurst with two large trunks, full of underclothing and so forth, he had to come round once more to the Monteiths, as Philip anticipated, to bring back the Gladstone bag and the brown portmanteau.
What might next have happened he himself hardly knew, for he was an impulsive creature, and Frida's rich lips were full and crimson, had not Philip's arrival with the two Miss Hardys to make up a set diverted for the moment the nascent possibility of a leading incident. It was a Sunday afternoon in full July, and a small party was seated under the spreading mulberry tree on the Monteiths' lawn.
So, though many people hazarded guesses as to where he had come from, nobody ever asked him the point-blank question: Who are you, if you please, and what do you want here? The Alien went out a great deal with the Monteiths.
They take their own manners and customs for granted, and they cannot see them in their true relations or compare them with the similar manners and customs of other nationalities. Whether Philip Christy liked it or not, the Monteiths and he were soon fairly committed to a tolerably close acquaintance with Bertram Ingledew.
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