The
wind at night blowing over the hills and woods was purer and fresher
than the wind by day, and the earth, robbed of detail, more mysterious
than the earth coloured and divided by roads and fields. For six hours
this profound beauty existed, and then as the east grew whiter and
whiter the ground swam to the surface, the roads were revealed, the
smoke rose and the people stirred, and the sun shone upon the windows
of the hotel at Santa Marina until they were uncurtained, and the gong
blaring all through the house gave notice of breakfast.
Directly breakfast was over, the ladies as usual circled vaguely,
picking up papers and putting them down again, about the hall.
"And what are you going to do to-day?" asked Mrs. Elliot drifting up
against Miss Warrington.
Mrs. Elliot, the wife of Hughling the Oxford Don, was a short woman,
whose expression was habitually plaintive. Her eyes moved from thing to
thing as though they never found anything sufficiently pleasant to rest
upon for any length of time.
"I'm going to try to get Aunt Emma out into the town," said Susan.
"She's not seen a thing yet."
"I call it so spirited of her at her age," said Mrs. Elliot, "coming all
this way from her own fireside."
"Yes, we always tell her she'll die on board ship," Susan replied. "She
was born on one," she added.
"In the old days," said Mrs.
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