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accessories on the wicker table； and quietly receded from the
landscape。 Elaine sat like a grave young goddess about to dispense
some mysterious potion to her devotees。 Her mind was still sitting
in judgment on the Jewish question。
Comus scrambled to his feet。
〃It's too hot for tea；〃 he said； 〃I shall go and feed the swans。〃
And he walked off with a little silver basket…dish containing brown
bread…and…butter。
Elaine laughed quietly。
〃It's so like Comus；〃 she said； 〃to go off with our one dish of
bread…and…butter。〃
Youghal chuckled responsively。 It was an undoubted opportunity for
him to put in some disparaging criticism of Comus； and Elaine sat
alert in readiness to judge the critic and reserve judgment on the
criticised。
〃His selfishness is splendid but absolutely futile；〃 said Youghal；
〃now my selfishness is commonplace； but always thoroughly practical
and calculated。 He will have great difficulty in getting the swans
to accept his offering； and he incurs the odium of reducing us to a
bread…and…butterless condition。 Incidentally he will get very
hot。〃
Elaine again had the sense of being thoroughly baffled。 If Youghal
had said anything unkind it was about himself。
〃If my cousin Suzette had been here；〃 she observed； with the shadow
of a malicious smile on her lips； 〃I believe she would have gone
into a flood of tears at the loss of her bread…and…butter； and
Comus would have figured ever after in her mind as something black
and destroying and hateful。 In fact I don't really know why we
took our loss so unprotestingly。〃
〃For two reasons；〃 said Youghal； 〃you are rather fond of Comus。
And I … am not very fond of bread…and…butter。〃
The jesting remark brought a throb of pleasure to Elaine's heart。
She had known full well that she cared for Comus； but now that
Courtenay Youghal had openly proclaimed the fact as something
unchallenged and understood matters seemed placed at once on a more
advanced footing。 The warm sunlit garden grew suddenly into a
Heaven that held the secret of eternal happiness。 Youth and
comeliness would always walk here； under the low…boughed mulberry
trees； as unchanging as the leaden otter that for ever preyed on
the leaden salmon on the edge of the old fountain； and somehow the
lovers would always wear the aspect of herself and the boy who was
talking to the four white swans by the water steps。 Youghal was
right； this was the real Heaven of one's dreams and longings；
immeasurably removed from that Rue de la Paix Paradise about which
one professed utterly insincere hankerings in places of public
worship。 Elaine drank her tea in a happy silence； besides being a
brilliant talker Youghal understood the rarer art of being a non…
talker on occasion。
Comus came back across the grass swinging the empty basket…dish in
his hand。
〃Swans were very pleased；〃 he cried； gaily； 〃and said they hoped I
would keep the bread…and…butter dish as a souvenir of a happy tea…
party。 I may really have it； mayn't I？〃 he continued in an anxious
voice； 〃it will do to keep studs and things in。 You don't want
it。〃
〃It's got the family crest on it；〃 said Elaine。 Some of the
happiness had died out of her eyes。
〃I'll have that scratched off and my own put on；〃 said Comus。
〃It's been in the family for generations；〃 protested Elaine； who
did not share Comus's view that because you were rich your lesser
possessions could have no value in your eyes。
〃I want it dreadfully；〃 said Comus； sulkily； 〃and you've heaps of
other things to put bread…and…butter in。〃
For the moment he was possessed by an overmastering desire to keep
the dish at all costs； a look of greedy determination dominated his
face； and he had not for an instant relaxed his grip of the coveted
object。
Elaine was genuinely angry by this time； and was busily telling
herself that it was absurd to be put out over such a trifle； at the
same moment a sense of justice was telling her that Comus was
displaying a good deal of rather shabby selfishness。 And somehow
her chief anxiety at the moment was to keep Courtenay Youghal from
seeing that she was angry。
〃I know you don't really want it； so I'm going to keep it；〃
persisted Comus。
〃It's too hot to argue；〃 said Elaine。
〃Happy mistress of your destinies；〃 laughed Youghal； 〃you can suit
your disputations to the desired time and temperature。 I have to
go and argue； or what is worse； listen to other people's arguments；
in a hot and doctored atmosphere suitable to an invalid lizard。〃
〃You haven't got to argue about a bread…and…butter dish；〃 said
Elaine。
〃Chiefly about bread…and…butter；〃 said Youghal； 〃our great
preoccupation is other people's bread…and…butter。 They earn or
produce the material； but we busy ourselves with making rules how
it shall be cut up； and the size of the slices； and how much butter
shall go on how much bread。 That is what is called legislation。
If we could only make rules as to how the bread…and…butter should
be digested we should be quite happy。〃
Elaine had been brought up to regard Parliaments as something to be
treated with cheerful solemnity； like illness or family re…unions。
Youghal's flippant disparagement of the career in which he was
involved did not； however； jar on her susceptibilities。 She knew
him to be not only a lively and effective debater but an
industrious worker on committees。 If he made light of his labours；
at least he afforded no one else a loophole for doing so。 And
certainly； the Parliamentary atmosphere was not inviting on this
hot afternoon。
〃When must you go？〃 she asked； sympathetically。
Youghal looked ruefully at his watch。 Before he could answer； a
cheerful hoot came through the air； as of an owl joyously
challenging the sunlight with a foreboding of the coming night。 He
sprang laughing to his feet。
〃Listen！ My summons back to my galley；〃 he cried。 〃The Gods have
given me an hour in this enchanted garden； so I must not complain。〃
Then in a lower voice he almost whispered； 〃It's the Persian debate
to…night；〃
It was the one hint he had given in the midst of his talking and
laughing that he was really keenly enthralled in the work that lay
before him。 It was the one little intimate touch that gave Elaine
the knowledge that he cared for her opinion of his work。
Comus； who had emptied his cigarette…case； became suddenly
clamorous at the prospect of being temporarily stranded without a
smoke。 Youghal took the last remaining cigarette from his own case
and gravely bisected it。
〃Friendship could go no further；〃 he observed； as he gave one…half
to the doubtfully appeased Comus； and lit the other himself。
〃There are heaps more in the hall；〃 said Elaine。
〃It was only done for the Saint Martin of Tours effect；〃 said
Youghal； 〃I hate smoking when I'm rushing through the air。 Good…
bye。〃
The departing galley…slave stepped forth into the sunlight； radiant
and confident。 A few minutes later Elaine could see glimpses of
his white car as it rushed past the rhododendron bushes。 He woos
best who leaves first； particularly if he goes forth to battle or
the semblance of battle。
Somehow Elaine's garden of Eternal Youth had already become clouded
in its imagery。 The girl…figure who walked in it was still
distinctly and unchangingly herself； but her companion was more
blurred and undefined； as a picture that has been superimposed on
another。
Youghal sped townward well satisfied with himself。 To…morrow； he
reflected； Elaine would read his speech in her morning paper； and
he knew in advance that it was not going to be one of his worst
efforts。 He knew almost exactly where the punctuations of laughter
and applause would burst in； he knew that nimble fingers in the
Press Gallery would be taking down each gibe and argument as he
flung it at the impassive Minister confronting him； and that the
fair lady of his desire would be able to judge what manner of young
man this was who spent his afternoon in her garden； lazily chaffing
himself and his world。
And he further reflected； with an amused chuckle； that she would be
vividly reminded of Comus for days to come； when she took her
afternoon tea； and saw the bread…and…butter reposing in an
unaccustomed dish。
CHAPTER VII
TOWARDS four o'clock on a hot afternoon Francesca stepped out from
a shop entrance near the Piccadilly end of Bond Street and ran
almost into the arms of Merla Blathlington。 The afternoon seemed
to get instantly hotter。 Merla was one of those human flies that
buzz； in crowded streets； at bazaars and in warm weather； she
attained to the proportions of a human bluebottle。 Lady Caroline
Benaresq had openly predicted