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the head of the sofa。
〃Do you know him； by the way？〃 she asked。
〃Who？〃
〃Mr。 Barbecue…Smith。〃
Denis knew of him vaguely。 Barbecue…Smith was a name in the
Sunday papers。 He wrote about the Conduct of Life。 He might even be
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the author of 〃What a Young Girl Ought to Know〃。
〃No； not personally；〃 he said。
〃I've invited him for next week…end。〃 She turned over the pages of
the book。 〃Here's the passage I was thinking of。 I marked it。 I always
mark the things I like。〃
Holding the book almost at arm's length； for she was somewhat long…
sighted； and making suitable gestures with her free hand； she began to read；
slowly； dramatically。
〃'What are thousand pound fur coats； what are quarter million
incomes？'〃 She looked up from the page with a histrionic movement of
the head； her orange coiffure nodded portentously。 Denis looked at it；
fascinated。 Was it the Real Thing and henna； he wondered； or was it one
of those Complete Transformations one sees in the advertisements？
〃'What are Thrones and Sceptres？'〃
The orange Transformationyes； it must be a Transformation bobbed
up again。
〃'What are the gaieties of the Rich； the splendours of the Powerful；
what is the pride of the Great； what are the gaudy pleasures of High
Society？'〃
The voice； which had risen in tone； questioningly； from sentence to
sentence； dropped suddenly and boomed reply。
〃'They are nothing。 Vanity； fluff； dandelion seed in the wind； thin
vapours of fever。 The things that matter happen in the heart。 Seen
things are sweet； but those unseen are a thousand times more significant。
It is the unseen that counts in Life。'〃
Mrs。 Wimbush lowered the book。 〃Beautiful； isn't it？〃 she said。
Denis preferred not to hazard an opinion； but uttered a non… committal
〃H'm。〃
〃Ah； it's a fine book this； a beautiful book；〃 said Priscilla； as she let the
pages flick back； one by one； from under her thumb。 〃And here's the
passage about the Lotus Pool。 He compares the Soul to a Lotus Pool；
you know。〃 She held up the book again and read。 〃'A Friend of mine
has a Lotus Pool in his garden。 It lies in a little dell embowered with
wild roses and eglantine； among which the nightingale pours forth its
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amorous descant all the summer long。 Within the pool the Lotuses
blossom； and the birds of the air come to drink and bathe themselves in its
crystal waters。。。' Ah； and that reminds me；〃 Priscilla exclaimed； shutting
the book with a clap and uttering her big profound laugh〃that reminds
me of the things that have been going on in our bathing…pool since you
were here last。 We gave the village people leave to come and bathe here
in the evenings。 You've no idea of the things that happened。〃
She leaned forward； speaking in a confidential whisper； every now and
then she uttered a deep gurgle of laughter。 〃。。。mixed bathing。。。saw them
out of my window。。。sent for a pair of field… glasses to make sure。。。no doubt
of it。。。〃 The laughter broke out again。 Denis laughed too。 Barbecue…
Smith was tossed on the floor。
It's time we went to see if tea's ready；〃 said Priscilla。 She hoisted
herself up from the sofa and went swishing off across the room； striding
beneath the trailing silk。 Denis followed her； faintly humming to
himself：
〃That's why I'm going to Sing in op'ra； sing in op'ra； Sing in op…pop…
pop…pop…popera。〃
And then the little twiddly bit of accompaniment at the end： 〃ra…ra。〃
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CHAPTER III。
The terrace in front of the house was a long narrow strip of turf；
bounded along its outer edge by a graceful stone balustrade。 Two little
summer…houses of brick stood at either end。 Below the house the ground
sloped very steeply away； and the terrace was a remarkably high one； from
the balusters to the sloping lawn beneath was a drop of thirty feet。 Seen
from below； the high unbroken terrace wall； built like the house itself of
brick； had the almost menacing aspect of a fortificationa castle bastion；
from whose parapet one looked out across airy depths to distances level
with the eye。 Below； in the foreground； hedged in by solid masses of
sculptured yew trees； lay the stone…brimmed swimming…pool。 Beyond it
stretched the park； with its massive elms； its green expanses of grass； and；
at the bottom of the valley； the gleam of the narrow river。 On the farther
side of the stream the land rose again in a long slope； chequered with
cultivation。 Looking up the valley； to the right； one saw a line of blue；
far…off hills。
The tea…table had been planted in the shade of one of the little
summer…houses； and the rest of the party was already assembled about it
when Denis and Priscilla made their appearance。 Henry Wimbush had
begun to pour out the tea。 He was one of those ageless； unchanging men
on the farther side of fifty； who might be thirty； who might be anything。
Denis had known him almost as long as he could remember。 In all those
years his pale； rather handsome face had never grown any older； it was
like the pale grey bowler hat which he always wore； winter and summer
unageing； calm； serenely without expression。
Next him； but separated from him and from the rest of the world by the
almost impenetrable barriers of her deafness； sat Jenny Mullion。 She was
perhaps thirty； had a tilted nose and a pink… and…white complexion； and
wore her brown hair plaited and coiled in two lateral buns over her ears。
In the secret tower of her deafness she sat apart； looking down at the world
through sharply piercing eyes。 What did she think of men and women
and things？ That was something that Denis had never been able to
discover。 In her enigmatic remoteness Jenny was a little disquieting。
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Even now some interior joke seemed to be amusing her； for she was
smiling to herself； and her brown eyes were like very bright round
marbles。
On his other side the serious； moonlike innocence of Mary
Bracegirdle's face shone pink and childish。 She was nearly twenty…three；
but one wouldn't have guessed it。 Her short hair； clipped like a page's；
hung in a bell of elastic gold about her cheeks。 She had large blue china
eyes； whose expression was one of ingenuous and often puzzled
earnestness。
Next to Mary a small gaunt man was sitting； rigid and erect in his chair。
In appearance Mr。 Scogan was like one of those extinct bird…lizards of the
Tertiary。 His nose was beaked； his dark eye had the shining quickness of
a robin's。 But there was nothing soft or gracious or feathery about him。
The skin of his wrinkled brown face had a dry and scaly look； his hands
were the hands of a crocodile。 His movements were marked by the
lizard's disconcertingly abrupt clockwork speed； his speech was thin； fluty；
and dry。 Henry Wimbush's school…fellow and exact contemporary； Mr。
Scogan looked far older and； at the same time； far more youthfully alive
than did that gentle aristocrat with the face like a grey bowler。
Mr。 Scogan might look like an extinct saurian； but Gombauld was
altogether and essentially human。 In the old…fashioned natural histories
of the 'thirties he might have figured in a steel engraving as a type of
Homo Sapiensan honour wh