She went out of the hall door, and, turning the corner of the hotel,
found herself among the people whom she had seen from the window. But
owing to the broad sunshine after shaded passages, and to the substance
of living people after dreams, the group appeared with startling
intensity, as though the dusty surface had been peeled off everything,
leaving only the reality and the instant. It had the look of a vision
printed on the dark at night. White and grey and purple figures were
scattered on the green, round wicker tables, in the middle the flame of
the tea-urn made the air waver like a faulty sheet of glass, a massive
green tree stood over them as if it were a moving force held at rest.
As she approached, she could hear Evelyn's voice repeating monotonously,
"Here then--here--good doggie, come here"; for a moment nothing seemed
to happen; it all stood still, and then she realised that one of the
figures was Helen Ambrose; and the dust again began to settle.
The group indeed had come together in a miscellaneous way; one tea-table
joining to another tea-table, and deck-chairs serving to connect two
groups. But even at a distance it could be seen that Mrs. Flushing,
upright and imperious, dominated the party. She was talking vehemently
to Helen across the table.
"Ten days under canvas," she was saying. "No comforts. If you want
comforts, don't come.
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