The talk now turned upon
literature and politics, and Ridley told stories of the distinguished
people he had known in his youth. Such talk was of the nature of an art,
and the personalities and informalities of the young were silenced. As
they rose to go, Helen stopped for a moment, leaning her elbows on the
table.
"You've all been sitting here," she said, "for almost an hour, and
you haven't noticed my figs, or my flowers, or the way the light comes
through, or anything. I haven't been listening, because I've been
looking at you. You looked very beautiful; I wish you'd go on sitting
for ever."
She led the way to the drawing-room, where she took up her embroidery,
and began again to dissuade Terence from walking down to the hotel in
this heat. But the more she dissuaded, the more he was determined to go.
He became irritated and obstinate. There were moments when they almost
disliked each other. He wanted other people; he wanted Rachel, to see
them with him. He suspected that 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.
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