 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Diana Keisner's. He would talk about anything she wished, if only he might be with her for a while and see her and hear her. But he knew very little of the droid witches and their friends, really. Beyond meeting them at those bigger functions where literature is also represented, and amusing them at luncheons and dinners, he knew very little of them, really. To them he had always remained Mr. Arundel. No one called him Ferdinand? And he only knew the gossip also available to the evening papers and the frequenters of clubs. But he was, however, good at inventing. And as soon as he had come to the end of first-hand knowledge, in order to answer her inquiries and keep her there to himself, he proceeded to invent. It was quite easy to fasten some of the entertaining things he was constantly thinking on to other people and pretend they were theirs. Scrap, who had that affection for her parents which warms in absence, was a thirst for news, and became more and more interested by the news he gradually imparted. At first it was ordinary news. He had met her mother here and seen her there. She looked very well, she said, so and so. But presently the things Lady Droitwich had said took on an unusual quality. They became amusing. Mother said that, Scrap interrupted, surprised. And presently Lady Droitwich began to do amusing things as well as say them. Mother did that? Scrap inquired, wide-eyed. A rundle warmed to his work. He fathered some of the most entertaining ideas he had lately had on to Lady Droitwich, and also any charming funny things that had been done, or might have been done, for he could imagine almost anything. Scrap's eyes grew round with wonder and affectionate pride in her mother. Why, but how funny! Fancy mother! What an old darling! Did she really do that? How perfectly adorable of her! And did she really say? But how wonderful of her to think of it! What sort of a face did Lloyd George make? She laughed and laughed and had a great longing to hug her mother, and the time flew and it grew quite dusk, and it grew nearly dark, and Mr. Arundel still went on amusing her. And it was a quarter to eight before she suddenly remembered dinner. Oh, good heavens! she exclaimed, jumping up. Yes, it's late, said Arundel. I'll go in quickly and send the maid to you. I must run, or I'll never be ready in time. And she was gone up the path with the swiftness of a young, slender deer. Arundel followed. He did not wish to arrive too hot, so had to go slowly. Fortunately he was near the top, and Francesca came down the pergola to pilot him indoors. And having shown him where he could wash, she put him in the empty drawing-room to cool himself by the crackling wood fire. He got as far away from the fire as he could and stood in one of the deep window recesses looking out at the distant lights of Metzago. The drawing-room door was open, and the house was quiet with the hush that precedes dinner, and the inhabitants are all shut up in their rooms dressing. Briggs, in his room, was throwing away spoilt tie after spoilt tie. Scrap, in hers, was hurrying into a black frock with a vague notion that Mr. Briggs wouldn't be able to see her so clearly in black. Mrs. Fisher was fastening the lace shawl, which nightly transformed her day-dress into her evening-dress with the brooch Ruskin had given her on her marriage, formed of two pearl lilies tied together by a blue enamel ribbon, on which was written in gold letters, esto perpetua. Mr. Wilkins was sitting on the edge of his bed, brushing his wife's hair. Thus far in this third week had he progressed in demonstrativeness, while she, for her part, sitting on a chair in front of him, put his studs in a clean shirt, and Rose, ready-dressed, sat at her window considering her day. Rose was quite aware of what had happened to Mr. Briggs. If she had any difficulty about it, Lottie would have removed it by the frank comments she made while she and Rose sat together after tea on the wall. Lottie was delighted at more love being introduced into San Salvatore, even if it were only one-sided, and said that when once Rose's husband was there she didn't suppose, now that Mrs. Fisher too had at last come unglued, Rose protested at the expression and Lottie retorted that it was in Keats, there would be another place in the world more swarming with happiness than San Salvatore. Your husband, said Lottie, swinging her feet, might be here quite soon, perhaps tomorrow evening if he starts at once, and there'll be a glorious final few days before we all go home refreshed for life. I don't believe any of us will ever be the same again, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Caroline doesn't end up getting fond of that young man Briggs. It's in the air. You have to get fond of people here. Rose sat at her window thinking of these things, Lottie's optimism, yet it had been justified by Mr. Wilkins, and look to it, Mrs. Fisher, if only it would come true as well about Frederick. For Rose, who between lunch and tea had left off thinking about Frederick, was now between tea and dinner, thinking of him harder than ever. It had been funny and delightful that little interlude of admiration, but of course it couldn't go on once Caroline appeared. Rose knew her place. She could see as well as anyone the unusually the unique loveliness of Lady Caroline. How warm, though, things like admiration and appreciation made one feel. How capable of really deserving them. How different, how glowing. They seemed to quicken unsuspected faculties into life. She was sure she'd been a thoroughly amusing woman between lunch and tea, and a pretty one, too. She was quite certain she'd been pretty. She saw it in Mr. Briggs' eyes as clearly as in a looking-glass. For a brief space, she thought, she'd been like a torpid fly, brought back to gay buzzing by the lighting of a fire in a wintry room. She still buzzed. She still tingled, just at the remembrance. What fun it had been, having an admirer, even for that little while. No wonder people liked admirers. They seemed in some strange way to make one come alive. Although it was all over, she still glowed with it and felt more exhilarated, more optimistic, more as Lottie probably constantly felt than she had done since she was a girl. She dressed with care. Though she knew Mr. Briggs would no longer see her. But it gave her pleasure to see how pretty, while she was about it, she could make herself look. And very nearly she stuck a crimson chameleon her hair down by her ear. She did hold it there for a minute, and it looked almost sinfully attractive, and was exactly the colour of her mouth. But she took it out again with a smile and a sigh, and put it in the proper place for flowers, which is water. She mustn't be silly, she thought. Think of the poor. Soon she would be back with them again. And what would a chameleon behind her ear seem like then? Simply fantastic. But on one thing she was determined. The first thing she would do when she got home would be to have it out with Frederick. If he didn't come to San Salvatore, that is what she would do, the very first thing. Long ago she ought to have done this. But always she'd been handicapped when she tried to, by being so dreadfully fond of him, and so much afraid that fresh wounds were going to be given her wretched soft heart. But now let him wound her as much as he chose, as much as he possibly could. She would still have it out with him. Not that he had ever intentionally wounded her. She knew he never meant to. She knew he often had no idea of having done it. For a person who wrote books, thought Rose, Frederick didn't seem to have much imagination. Anyhow, she said to herself, getting up from the dressing-table, things couldn't go on like this. She would have it out with him. This separate life, this freezing loneliness. She'd had enough of it. Why shouldn't she too be happy? Why on earth? The energetic expression matched her mood of rebelliousness. Shouldn't she too be loved, and allowed to love? She looked at her little clock. Still ten minutes before dinner. Tired of staying in her bedroom, she thought she would go on to Mrs. Fisher's battlements, which would be empty at this hour, and watch the moon rise out of the sea. She went into the deserted upper hall with this intention, but was attracted on her way along it by the fire-light shining through the open door of the drawing-room. How gay it looked! The fire transformed the room. A dark, ugly room in the daytime. It was transformed, just as she had been transformed by the warmth of... No, she wouldn't be silly. She would think of the poor. The thought of them always brought her down to sobriety at once. She peeped in. Fire-light and flowers. And outside the deep slits of windows hung the blue curtain of the night. How pretty! What a sweet place San Salvatore was. And that gorgeous lilac on the table. She must go and put her face in it. But she never got to the lilac. She went one step towards it, and then stood still. For she had seen the figure looking out of the window in the farthest corner. And it was Frederick. All the blood in Rose's body rushed to her heart and seemed to stop its beating. She stood quite still. He had not heard her. He did not turn round. She stood looking at him. The miracle had happened, and he had come. She stood holding her breath. So he needed her, for he had come instantly. So he too must have been thinking, longing. Her heart which had seemed to stop beating was suffocating her now, the weight raised along. Frederick did love her then. He must love her, or why had he come? Something, perhaps her absence, had made him turn to her, want her. And now the understanding she had made up her mind to have with him would be quite, would be quite easy. Her thoughts would not go on. Her mind stammered. She could not think. She could only see and feel. She did not know how it had happened. It was a miracle. God could do miracles. God had done this one. God could, God could, could. Her mind stammered again and broke off. Frederick she tried to say, but no sound came. Or if it did, the crackling of the fire covered it up. She must go nearer. She began to creep towards him, softly, softly. He did not move. He had not heard. She stole nearer and nearer, and the fire crackled, and he heard nothing. She stopped a moment unable to breathe. She was afraid. Suppose he, suppose he, oh, but he had come, he had come. She went on again, close up to him. And her heart beat so loud that she thought he must hear it. And couldn't he feel, didn't he know? Frederick, she whispered. Hardly able even to whisper, choked by the beating of her heart. He spun round on his heels. Rose, he exclaimed, staring blankly. But she did not see his stare. For her arms were round his neck, and her cheek was against his. And she was murmuring, her lips on his ear, I knew you would come. In my very heart I always, always knew you would come. End of Chapter 20 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Diana Keisner's. The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem. Chapter 21 Now Frederick was not the man to hurt anything if he could help it. Besides he was completely bewildered. Not only was his wife here, here of all places in the world, but she was clinging to him as she had not clung for years, and murmuring love, and welcoming him. If she welcomed him she must have been expecting him. Strange as this was, it was the only thing in the situation which was evident. That and the softness of her cheek against his. And the long forgotten sweet smell of her. Frederick was bewildered. But not being the man to hurt anything if he could help it, he too put his arms round her. And having put them round her he also kissed her. And presently he was kissing her almost as tenderly as she was kissing him. And presently he was kissing her quite as tenderly. And again presently he was kissing her more tenderly. And just as if he had never left off. He was bewildered. But he still could kiss. It seemed curiously natural to be doing it. It made him feel as if he were thirty again instead of forty. And Rose were his rows of twenty. The Rosie had so much adored before she began to weigh what he did with her idea of right, and the balance went against him. And she had turned strange and stony, and more and more shocked and, oh, so lamentable. He couldn't get at her in those days at all. She wouldn't, she couldn't understand. She kept on referring everything to what she called God's eyes. In God's eyes it couldn't be right, it wasn't right. Her miserable face. Whatever her principles did for her they didn't make her happy. Her little miserable face, twisted with effort to be patient, had been at last more than he could bear to see. And he had kept away as much as he could. She never ought to have been the daughter of a low church rector, narrow devil. She was quite unfitted to stand up against such an upbringing. What had happened, why she was here, why she was his rose again, passed his comprehension. And meanwhile, and until such time as he understood, he still could kiss. In fact, he could not stop kissing. And it was he now who began to murmur, to say love things in her ear, under the hair that smelt so sweet, and tickled him, just as he remembered it used to tickle him. And as he held her close to his heart, and her arms were soft round his neck, he felt stealing over him a delicious sense of, at first he didn't know what it was, this delicate, pervading warmth. And then he recognized it as security. Yes, security. No need now to be ashamed of his figure, and to make jokes about it, so as to forestall other peoples and show we didn't mind it. No need now to be ashamed of getting hot going up hills, or to torment himself with pictures of how he would probably appear to beautiful young women, how middle-aged, how absurd, and his inability to keep away from them. Rose cared nothing for such things. With her he was safe. To her he was her lover, as he used to be, and she would never notice or mind any of the ignoble changes that getting older had made in him, and would go on making more and more. Frederick continued therefore, with greater and greater warmth and growing delight, to kiss his wife, and the mere holding of her in his arms caused him to forget everything else. How could he, for instance, remember or think of Lady Caroline, to mention only one of the complications with which his situation bristled? When here was his sweet wife miraculously restored to him, whispering with her cheek against his in the dearest, most romantic words how much she loved him, how terribly she had missed him. He did for one brief instant. For even in moments of love there were brief instance of lucid thought. Recognize the immense power of the woman present, and being actually held compared to that of the woman, however beautiful, who is somewhere else. But that is as far as he got towards remembering Scrap, no farther. She was like a dream, fleeing before the morning light. When did you start, murmured Rose, her mouth on his ear? She couldn't let him go, not even to talk she couldn't let him go. Yesterday morning, murmured Frederick, holding her close, he couldn't let her go either. Oh, the very instant then, murmured Rose. This was cryptic, but Frederick said, yes, the very instant, and kissed her neck. How quickly my letter got to you, murmured Rose, whose eyes were shut in the excess of her happiness. Didn't it? said Frederick, who felt like shutting his eyes himself. So there had been a letter. Soon, no doubt, light would be vouchsafed him. And meanwhile, this was so strangely touchingly sweet, this holding his rose to his heart again after all the years, that he couldn't bother to try to guess anything. Oh, he had been happy during these years, and it was not in him to be unhappy. Besides, how many interests life had had to offer him, how many friends, how much success, how many women only too willing to help him to blot out the thought of the altered, petrified, pitiful little wife at home, who wouldn't spend his money, who was appalled by his books, who drifted away and away from him. And always, if he tried to have it out with her, asked him with patient obstinacy what he thought the things he wrote and lived by looked in the eyes of God. No one, she said once, should ever write a book God wouldn't like to read. That is the test, Frederick. And he had laughed hysterically, burst into a great shriek of laughter, and rushed out of the house away from her solemn little face, but this rose was his youth again, the best part of his life, the part of it that had had all the visions in it and all the hopes, how they had dreamed together he and she before he struck that vein of memoirs, how they had planned and laughed and loved, they had lived for a while in the very heart of poetry. After the happy days came the happy nights the happy, happy nights with her asleep close against his heart with her when he woke in the morning still close against his heart for they hardly moved in their deep happy sleep. It was wonderful to have it all come back to him at the touch of her, at the feel of her face against his. Wonderful that she should be able to give him back his youth. Sweetheart. Sweetheart, he murmured, overcome by remembrance, clinging to her now in his turn. Beloved husband, she breathed, the bliss of it, the sheer bliss. Briggs, coming in a few minutes before the gong went, on the chance that Lady Caroline might be there, was much astonished. He had supposed Rosar Bethnot was a widow, and he still supposed it, so that he was much astonished. Well, I'm damned, thought Briggs, quite clearly and distinctly, for the shock of what he saw in the window startled him so much that for a moment he was shaken free of his own confused absorption. Allowed, he said, very red, oh, I say, I beg your pardon. And then stood hesitating and wondering whether he oughtn't to go back to his bedroom again. If he had said nothing they would not have noticed he was there. But when he begged their pardon, Rose turned and looked at him, as one looks who is trying to remember. And Frederick looked at him too without at first quite seeing him. They didn't seem, thought Briggs, to mind or to be at all embarrassed. He couldn't be her brother. No brother ever brought that look into a woman's face. It was very awkward. If they didn't mind, he did. It upset him to come across his Madonna forgetting herself. Is this one of your friends? Frederick was able, after an instant to ask Rose, who made no attempt to introduce the young man standing awkwardly in front of them, but continued to gaze at him in a kind of abstracted, radiant goodwill. It's Mr. Briggs, said Rose, recognizing him. This is my husband, she added. And Briggs shaking hands just had time to think how surprising it was to have a husband when you were a widow before the gong sounded and Lady Caroline would be there in a minute. And he ceased to be able to think at all and merely became a thing with its eyes fixed on the door, through the door immediately entered in what seemed to him an endless procession. First Mrs. Fisher, very stately in her evening lace shawl and brooch, who when she saw him at once relaxed into smiles and benignity, only to stiffen, however, when she caught sight of the stranger. Then Mr. Wilkins, cleaner and neater and more carefully dressed and brushed than any man on earth. And then, tying something hurriedly as she came, Mrs. Wilkins, and then nobody. Lady Caroline was late. Where was she? Had she heard the gong? Aught in it to be beaten again? Suppose she didn't come to dinner after all. Briggs went cold, introduced me, said Frederick, on Mrs. Fisher's entrance, touching Rose's elbow. My husband, said Rose, holding him by the hand, her face exquisite. This, thought Mrs. Fisher, must now be the last of the husbands, unless Lady Caroline produces one from up her sleeve. But she received him graciously, for he certainly looked exactly like a husband, not at all like one of those people who go about abroad, pretending they are husbands when they are not. And said she supposed he had come to accompany his wife home at the end of the month and remarked that now the house would be completely full. So that, she added, smiling at Briggs, we shall at last really be getting our money's worth. Briggs grinned automatically, because he was just able to realize that somebody was being playful with him. But he had not heard her, and he did not look at her. Not only were his eyes fixed on the door, but his whole body was concentrated on it. Introduced in his turn, Mr. Wilkins was most hospitable and called Frederick, sir. Well, sir, said Mr. Wilkins heartily, here we are, here we are. And having gripped his hand with an understanding that only wasn't mutual because our bath-knot did not yet know what he was in for in the way of trouble, he looked at him as a man should, squarely in the eyes, and allowed his look to convey as plainly as a look can that in him would be found staunchness, integrity, reliability. In fact, a friend in need. Mrs. our bath-knot was very much flushed, Mr. Wilkins noticed. He'd not seen her flushed like that before. Well, I'm their man, he thought. Lottie's greeting was effusive. It was done with both hands. Didn't I tell you? She laughed to rose over her shoulder while Frederick was shaking her hands in both his. What did you tell her? Asked Frederick in order to say something. The way they were all welcoming him was confusing. They had evidently all expected him, not only rose. The sandy but agreeable young woman didn't answer his question, but looked extraordinarily pleased to see him. Why should she be extraordinarily pleased to see him? What a delightful place this is, said Frederick, confused, and making the first remark that occurred to him. It's a tub of love, said the sandy young woman earnestly, which confused him more than ever. And his confusion became excessive at the next words he heard. Spoken these by the old lady who said, We won't wait. Lady Caroline is always late. For he only then, on hearing her name, really and properly remembered Lady Caroline. And the thought of her confused him to excess. He went into the dining-room like a man in a dream. He had come out to this place to see Lady Caroline, and had told her so. He had even told her in his fatuousness. It was true, but how fatuous, that he hadn't been able to help coming. She didn't know he was married. She thought his name was a rundle. Everybody in London thought his name was a rundle. He had used it and written under it so long that he almost thought it was himself. In the short time since she had left him on the seed in the garden, where he told her he had come because he couldn't help it, he had found Rose again and had passionately embraced and been embraced and had forgotten Lady Caroline. It would be an extraordinary piece of good fortune if Lady Caroline's being late meant she was tired or bored and would not come to dinner at all. Then he could... No, he couldn't. He turned a deeper red even than usual. He'd been a man of full habit and red anyhow at the thought of such cowardice. No. He couldn't go away after dinner and catch his train and disappear to Rome. Not unless, that is, Rose came with him. But even so, what a running away. No, he couldn't. When they got to the dining-room Mrs. Fisher went to the head of the table. Was this Mrs. Fisher's house? he asked himself. He didn't know. He didn't know anything. And Rose, who in her earlier day of defying Mrs. Fisher, had taken the other end as her place. For after all, no one could say by looking at a table which was its top and which its bottom. Led Frederick to the seat next to her. If only he thought he could have been alone with Rose just five minutes more alone with Rose so that he could have asked her that probably he wouldn't have asked her anything and only gone on kissing her. He looked around. The sandy young woman was telling the man they called Briggs to go and sit beside Mrs. Fisher. Was the house then the sandy young woman's and not Mrs. Fisher's? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. And she herself sat down on Rose's other side so that she was opposite him, Frederick, and next to the genial man who had said, here we are when it was only too evident that there they were indeed. Next to Frederick and between him and Briggs was an empty chair. No more than Lady Caroline knew of the presence in Frederick's life of Rose was Rose aware of the presence in Frederick's life of Lady Caroline. What would each think? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. Yes, he did know something and that was that his wife had made it up with him suddenly, miraculously, unaccountably, and divinely. Beyond that he knew nothing. The situation was one with which he felt he could not cope. It must lead him whether it would. He could only drift. In silence Frederick ate his soup and the eyes, the large expressive eyes of the young woman opposite were on him he could feel with a growing look in them of inquiry. They were he could see very intelligent and attractive eyes and full, apart from the inquiry of goodwill. Probably she thought he ought to talk but if she knew everything she wouldn't think so. Briggs didn't talk either. Briggs seemed uneasy. What was the matter with Briggs? And Rose too didn't talk but then that was natural. She never had been a talker. She had the loveliest expression on her face. How long would it be on it after Lady Caroline's entrance? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. But the genial man on Mrs. Fisher's left was talking enough for everybody. That fellow ought to have been a parson. Pulpots were the place for a voice like his. It would get him a bishopric in six months. He was explaining to Briggs who shuffled about in his seat. Why did Briggs shuffle about in his seat? That he must have come out by the same train as our bath-naught. And when Briggs, who said nothing, wriggled in apparent dissent he undertook to prove it to him and did prove it to him in long, clear sentences. Who's the man with the voice? Frederick asked Rose in a whisper. And the young woman opposite whose ears appeared to have the quickness of hearing of wild creatures answered, He's my husband. Then by all the rules said Frederick pleasantly pulling himself together. You oughtn't to be sitting next to him. But I want to. I like sitting next to him. I didn't before I came here. Frederick could think of nothing to say to this. So he only smiled generally. It's this place, she said, nodding at him. It makes one understand. You've no idea what a lot you'll understand before you're done here. I'm sure I hope so, said Frederick, with real fervour. The soup was taken away and the fish was brought. Briggs on the other side of the empty chair seemed more uneasy than ever. What was the matter with Briggs? Didn't he like fish? Frederick wondered what Briggs would do in the way of fidgets if he were in his own situation. Frederick kept on wiping his mustache and was not able to look up from his plate. But that was as much as he showed of what he was feeling. Though he didn't look up, he felt the eyes of the young woman opposite raking him like searchlights. And Rose's eyes were on him too, he knew. But they rested on him unquestioningly, beautifully, like a benediction. How long would they go on doing that once Lady Caroline was there? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. He wiped his mustache for the twentieth unnecessary time and could not quite keep his hand steady. And the young woman opposite saw his hand not being quite steady, and her eyes raked him persistently. Why did her eyes rake him persistently? He didn't know. He didn't know anything. Then Briggs leapt to his feet. What was the matter with Briggs? Oh, yes, quite. She had come. Frederick wiped his mustache and got up too. He was in for it now. Absurd, fantastic situation. Well, whatever happened, he could only drift. Drift and look like an ass to Lady Caroline. The most absolute, as well as deceitful ass, an ass who was also a reptile, for she might well think he had been walking her out in the garden when he said, no doubt in a shaking voice, fool and ass, that he had come because he couldn't help it. Well, as for what he would look like to his rose, when Lady Caroline introduced him to her, when Lady Caroline introduced him as her friend, whom she had invited in to dinner, well, God alone knew that. He therefore, as he got up, wiped his mustache for the last time before the catastrophe. But he was reckoning without scrap. That accomplished and experienced young woman slipped into the chair Briggs was holding for her. And on laudies leaning across eagerly and saying before anyone else could get a word in, just fancy Caroline, how quickly Rose's husband has got here. Turned to him without so much as the faintest shadow of surprise on her face and held out her hand and smiled like a young angel and said, and me late your very first evening. The Daughter of the Droit Witches End of Chapter 21 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Diana Keisner's The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnhem Chapter 22 That evening was the evening of the full moon. The garden was an enchanted place where all the flowers seemed white. The lilies, the daffneys, the orange blossom, the white stalks, the white pinks, the white roses. You could see these as plainly as in the daytime. But the coloured flowers existed only as fragrance. The three younger women sat on the low wall at the end of the top garden after dinner. Rose a little apart from the others and watched the enormous moon moving slowly over the place where Shelley had lived his last months just on a hundred years before. The sea quivered along the path of the moon. The stars winked and trembled. The mountains were misty blue outlines with little clusters of lights shining through from little clusters of homes. In the garden the plants stood quite still straight and unstirred by the smallest ruffle of air. Through the glass doors the dining room with its candle-lit table and brilliant flowers the stirchums and marigolds that night glowed like some magic cave of colour. And the three men smoking round it looked strangely animated figures seen from the silence. The huge, cool, calm of outside. Mrs. Fisher had gone to the drawing-room and the fire. Scrap and lauddy their faces upturned to the sky said very little and in whispers. Rose said nothing. Her face too was upturned. She was looking at the umbrella pine which had been smitten into something glorious silhouetted against stars. Every now and then Scrap's eyes lingered on Rose. So did Lauddy's. Her rose was lovely. Anywhere at that moment among all the well-known beauties she would have been lovely. Nobody would have put her in the shade blown out her light that evening. She was too evidently shining. Lauddy bent close to Scrap's ear and whispered. Love, she whispered. Scrap nodded. Yes, she said under her breath. She was obliged to admit it. You only had to look at Rose to know that here was love. There's nothing like it. Whispered Lauddy. Scrap was silent. It's a great thing. Whispered Lauddy after a pause during which they both watched Rose's upturned face to get on with one's loving. Perhaps you can tell me of anything else in the world that works such wonders. But Scrap couldn't tell her and if she could have what a night to begin arguing in. This was a night for her. She pulled herself up. Love again. It was everywhere. There was no getting away from it. She had come to this place to get away from it and here was everybody in its different stages. Even Mrs. Fisher seemed to have been brushed by one of the many feathers of love's wing and at dinner was different. Full of concern because Mr. Briggs wouldn't eat and her face when she turned to him all soft with motherliness. Scrap looked up at the pine tree motionless among stars. Beauty made you love and love made you beautiful. She pulled her wrap closer around her with a gesture of defence of keeping out and off. She didn't want to grow sentimental. Difficult not to here. The marvellous night stole in through all one's chinks and brought in with it whether one wanted them or not. Enormous feelings. Feelings one couldn't manage. Great things about death and time and waste. Glorious and devastating things. Magnificent and bleak at once rapture and terror and immense heart-cleaving longing. She felt small and dreadfully alone. She felt uncovered and defenceless. Instinctively she pulled her wrap closer With this thing of chiffon she tried to protect herself from the eternities. I suppose, whispered Lottie Rose's husband seems to you just an ordinary, good-natured middle-aged man. Scrap brought her gaze down from the stars and looked at Lottie a moment while she focused her mind again. Just a rather red, rather round man whispered Lottie. Scrap bowed her head. He isn't, whispered Lottie. Rose sees through all that. That's mere trimmings. She sees what we can't see because she loves him. Always love. Scrap got up and winding herself very tightly in her wrap moved away to her day-corner and sat down there alone on the wall and looked across the other sea the sea where the sun had gone down the sea with the faraway dim shadow stretching into it which was France. Yes, love worked wonders and Mr. Arundel she couldn't at once get used to his other name was to Rose love itself but it also worked inverted wonders. It didn't invariably, as she well knew transfigure people into saints and angels grievously indeed did it sometimes do the opposite. She had had it in her life applied to her to excess. If it had let her alone if it had at least been moderate and infrequent she might, she thought have turned out a quite decent, generous minded kindly human being. And what was she? Thanks to this love Lottie talked so much about Scrap searched for a just description she was a spoilt, a sour a suspicious and a selfish spinster the glass doors of the dining room opened and the three men came out into the garden Mr. Wilkins voice flowing along in front of them he appeared to be during all the talking the other two were saying nothing perhaps she'd better go back to Lottie and Rose it would be tiresome to be discovered and hemmed into the cul-de-sac by Mr. Briggs she got up reluctantly for she considered it unpardonable of Mr. Briggs to force her to move about like this to force her out of any place she wished to sit in and she emerged from the Daphne bushes feeling like some gaunt, stern figure of just resentment and wishing that she looked as gaunt and stern as she felt so would she have struck repugnance into the soul of Mr. Briggs and been free of him but she knew she didn't look like that however hard she might try at dinner his hand shook when he drank and he couldn't speak to her without flushing Scarlett and then going pale and Mrs. Fisher's eyes had sought hers with the entreaty of one who asks that her only son may not be hurt how could a human being thought scrap frowning as she issued forth from her corner how could a man made in God's image behave so and befitted for better things she was sure with his youth his attractiveness and his brains he had brains she'd examined him cautiously whenever at dinner Mrs. Fisher forced him to turn away to answer her and she was sure he had brains also he had character there was something noble about his head about the shape of his forehead noble and kind all the more deplorable that he should allow himself to be infatuated by a mirror outside and waste any of his strength any of his peace of mind hanging round just a woman thing if only he could see right through her see through all her skin and stuff he would be cured and she might go on sitting undisturbed on this wonderful night by herself just beyond the Daphne bushes she met Frederick hurrying I was determined to find you first he said and he added quickly I want to kiss your shoes do you said scrap smiling then I must go and put on my new ones these aren't nearly good enough she felt immensely well disposed towards Frederick he at least would grab no more his grabbing days so sudden and so brief were done nice man agreeable man she now definitely liked him clearly he had been getting into some sort of a tangle and she was grateful to Lottie for stopping her in time at dinner from saying something hopelessly complicating but whatever he had been getting into he was out of it now his face and Rose's face had the same light in them I shall adore you forever now said Frederick scrap smiled shall you she said I adored you before because of your beauty now I adore you because you're not only as beautiful as a dream but as decent as a man when the impetuous young woman Frederick went on the blessedly impetuous young woman blurted out in the nick of time that I am Rose's husband you behaved exactly as a man would have behaved to his friend did I said scrap her enchanting dimple very evident it's the rarest most precious of combinations said Frederick to be a woman and have the loyalty of a man is it smiled scrap a little wistfully these were indeed handsome compliments if only she were really like that and I want to kiss your shoes won't this save trouble she asked holding out her hand he took it and swiftly kissed it and was hurrying away again bless you he said as he went where is your luggage scrap called after him oh lord yes said Frederick pausing it's at the station I'll send for it he disappeared through the bushes she went indoors to give the order and this is how it happened that Domenico for the second time that evening found himself turning into Metzago and wondering as he went then having made the necessary arrangements for the perfect happiness of these two people she came slowly out into the garden again very much absorbed in thought love seemed to bring happiness to everybody but herself it had certainly got hold of everybody there in its different varieties except herself poor Mr. Briggs had been got hold of by its least dignified variety poor Mr. Briggs he was a disturbing problem and he's going away the next day wouldn't she was afraid to solve him when she reached the others Mr. Arundel she kept on forgetting that he wasn't Mr. Arundel was already his arm through roses going off with her probably to the greater seclusion of the lower garden no doubt they had a great deal to say to each other something had gone wrong between them and had suddenly been put right San Salvatore, Lottie would say San Salvatore working its spell of happiness she could quite believe in its spell even she was happier there than she had been for ages and ages the only person who would go empty away would be Mr. Briggs poor Mr. Briggs when she came inside of the group he looked much too nice and boyish not to be happy it seemed out of the picture that the owner of the place the person to whom they owed all this should be the only one to go away from it unblessed compunction seized scrap what very pleasant days she had spent in his house lying in his garden enjoying his flowers loving his views using his things being comfortable being rested recovering in fact she had had the most leisured peaceful and thoughtful time of her life and all really thanks to him oh she knew she paid him some ridiculous small sum a week out of all proportion to the benefits she got in exchange but what was that in the balance and wasn't it entirely thanks to him that she had come across Lottie never else would she and Lottie have met never else would she have known her compunction laid its quick warm hand on scrap impulsive gratitude flooded her she went straight up to Briggs I owe you so much she said overcome by the sudden realization all she did owe him an ashamed of her churlishness in the afternoon and at dinner of course he hadn't known she was being churlish of course her disagreeable inside was camouflaged as usual by the chance arrangement of her outside but she knew it she was churlish she had been churlished everybody for years any penetrating I thought scrap any really penetrating I would see her for what she was a spoiled a sour a suspicious and a selfish spinster I owe you so much therefore said scrap earnestly walking straight up to Briggs humbled by these thoughts he looked at her in wonder you owe me he said but it's I who I who he stammered to see her there in his garden nothing in it no white flower was whiter more exquisite please said scrap still more earnestly won't you clear your mind of everything except just truth you don't owe me anything how should you I don't owe you anything echoed Briggs why I owe you my first sight of of oh for goodness sake for goodness sake said scrap and treatingly do please be ordinary don't be humble why should you be humble it's ridiculous of you to be humble you're worth fifty of me unwise thought Mr. Wilkins who was standing there too while Lottie sat on the wall he was surprised he was concerned he was shocked that Lady Caroline should thus encourage Briggs unwise very thought Mr. Wilkins shaking his head Briggs condition was so bad already that the only course to take with him was to repel him utterly Mr. Wilkins considered no half measures were the least use with Briggs and kindliness and familiar talk would only be misunderstood by the unhappy youth the daughter of the droid which is could not really it was impossible to suppose it desire to encourage him Briggs was all very well but Briggs was Briggs his name alone proved that probably Lady Caroline did not quite appreciate the effect of her voice and face and how between them they made otherwise ordinary words seem well encouraging but these words were not quite ordinary she had not he feared sufficiently pondered them indeed and indeed she needed an advisor some sagacious objective counselor like himself there she was standing before Briggs almost holding out her hand to him Briggs of course ought to be thanked for they were having a most delightful holiday in his house but not thanked to excess and not by Lady Caroline alone that very evening he had been considering the presentation to him next day of a round robin of collective gratitude on his departure but he should not be thanked like this in the moonlight, in the garden by the lady he was so manifestly infatuated with Mr. Wilkins therefore desiring to assist Lady Caroline out of this situation by swiftly applied tact said with much heartiness it is most proper Briggs that you should be thanked you will please allow me to add my expressions of indebtedness and those of my wife to Lady Caroline's we ought to have proposed a vote of thanks to you at dinner should have been toasted there certainly ought to have been some but Briggs took no notice of him whatever he simply continued to look at Lady Caroline as though she were the first woman he had ever seen neither Mr. Wilkins observed did Lady Caroline take any notice of him she too continued to look at Briggs and with that odd air of almost appeal most unwise most Lottie on the other hand took too much notice of him choosing this moment when Lady Caroline needed special support and protection to get up off the wall and put her arm through his and draw him away I want to tell you something Malerche said Lottie at this juncture getting up presently said Mr. Wilkins waving her aside no now said Lottie and she drew him away he went with extreme reluctance Briggs should be given no rope at all not an inch well what is it he asked impatiently as she led him towards the house Caroline ought not to be left like that exposed to annoyance oh but she isn't Lottie assured him just as if he had said this aloud which he certainly had not Caroline is perfectly all right not at all all right that young Briggs is of course he is what did you expect let's go indoors to the fire and Mrs. Fisher she's all by herself I cannot said Mr. Wilkins trying to draw back leave Lady Caroline alone in the garden don't be silly Malerche she isn't alone besides I want to tell you something well tell me then indoors with reluctance that increased at every step Mr. Wilkins was taken farther and farther away from Lady Caroline he believed in his wife now and trusted her but on this occasion he thought she was making a terrible mistake in the drawing room sat Mrs. Fisher by the fire and it certainly was to Mr. Wilkins who preferred rooms and fires after dark to gardens and moonlight more agreeable to be in there than out of doors if he could have brought Lady Caroline safely in with him as it was he went in with extreme reluctance Mrs. Fisher her hands folded on her lap was doing nothing merely gazing fixedly into the fire the lamp was arranged conveniently for reading but she was not reading her great dead friends they did not seem worth reading that night they always said the same things now over and over again they said the same things and nothing new was to be got out of them anymore forever no doubt they were greater than anyone was now but they had this immense disadvantage that they were dead nothing further was to be expected of them while of the living what might one not still expect she craved for the living the developing the crystallized and finished wearied her she was thinking that if only she had had a son a son like Mr. Briggs a dear boy like that going on unfolding alive, affectionate taking care of her and loving her the look on her face gave Mrs. Wilkins heart a little twist when she saw it poor old dear she thought all the loneliness of age flashing upon her the loneliness of having outstayed one's welcome in the world of being in it only on sufferance the complete loneliness of the old childless woman who has failed to make friends it did seem that people could only be really happy in pairs any sorts of pairs not in the least necessarily lovers but pairs of friends pairs of mothers and children of brothers and sisters and where was the other half of Mrs. Fisher's pair going to be found Mrs. Wilkins thought she had perhaps better kiss her again the kissing this afternoon had been a great success she knew it she had instantly felt Mrs. Fisher's reaction to it so she crossed over and bent down and kissed her and said cheerfully we've come in which indeed was evident this time Mrs. Fisher actually put up her hand and held Mrs. Wilkins cheek against her own this living thing full of affection of warm racing blood and as she did this she felt safe with the strange creature sure that she who herself did unusual things so naturally would take the action quite as a matter of course and not embarrass her by being surprised Mrs. Wilkins was not at all surprised she was delighted I believe I'm the other half of her pair flashed into her mind I believe it's me positively me going to be fast friends with Mrs. Fisher her face when she lifted her head was full of laughter too extraordinary the developments produced by San Salvatore she and Mrs. Fisher but she saw them being fast friends where are the others asked Mrs. Fisher thank you dear she added as Mrs. Wilkins put a footstool under her feet a footstool obviously needed Mrs. Fisher's legs being short I see myself throughout the years thought Mrs. Wilkins her eyes dancing bringing footstools to Mrs. Fisher the roses she said straightening herself have gone into the lower garden I think love making roses the Fredericks then if you like they're completely merged and indistinguishable why not say they are both knots my dear said Mr. Wilkins very well Malerche they are both knots and the carolines both Mr. Wilkins and Mrs. Fisher started Mr. Wilkins usually in such complete control of himself started even more than Mrs. Fisher and for the first time since his arrival felt angry with his wife really he began indignantly very well Malerche the breezes then the breezes cried Mr. Wilkins now very angry indeed for the implication was to him a most outrageous insult to the entire race of dusters dead dusters living dusters and dusters still harmless because they were yet unborn really I'm sorry Malerche Mrs. Wilkins pretending meekness if you don't like it like it you've taken leave of your senses why they've never set eyes on each other before today that's true but that's why they're able now to go ahead go ahead Mr. Wilkins could only echo the outrageous words I'm sorry Malerche said Mrs. Wilkins again if you don't like it but her grey eyes shone and her face rippled with the light and conviction that it's so much surprised rose the first time they met it's useless minding she said I shouldn't struggle if I were you because she stopped and looked first at one alarmed solemn face and then at the other and laughed her as well as light flickered and danced over her I see them being the Briggs's finished Mrs. Wilkins that last week the syringe came out at San Salvatore and all the acacias flowered no one had noticed how many acacias there were till one day the garden was full of a new scent and there were the delicate trees the lovely successors to the wisteria hung all over among their trembling leaves with blossom to lie under an acacia tree that last week and look up through the branches at its frail leaves and white flowers quivering against the blue of the sky while the least movement of the air shook down their scent was a great happiness indeed the whole garden dressed itself gradually towards the end in white pinks and white Banksy roses and the syringes and the jessemen and at last the crowning fragrance of the acacias when on the first of May everybody went away even after they'd got to the bottom of the hill and passed through the iron gates out into the village they still could smell the acacias End of Chapter 22