CHAPTER TEN

linlove. ItwasthemiddleofFebruary.TheroofsofHampsteadGardenSuburblayinatremuloushaze.Itwastoohottowalk.Adogbarked,barked,barkeddowninthehollow.Theliquidshadowswentovertheplain. Thebodyafterlongillnessislanguid,passive,receptiveofsweetness,buttooweaktocontainit.Thetearswellandfallasthedogbarksinthehollow,thechildrenskimafterhoops,thecountrydarkensandbrightens.Beyondaveilitseems.Ah,butdrawtheveilthickerlestIfaintwithsweetness,FannyElmersighed,asshesatonabenchinJudgesWalklookingatHampsteadGardenSuburb.Butthedogwentonbarking.Themotorcarshootedontheroad.Sheheardafar-awayrushandhumming.Agitationwasatherheart.Upshegotandwalked.Thegrasswasfreshlygreenthesunhot.Allroundthepondchildrenwerestoopingtolaunchlittleboatsorweredrawnbackscreamingbytheirnurses. Atmid-dayyoungwomenwalkoutintotheair.Allthemenarebusyinthetown.Theystandbytheedgeofthebluepond.Thefreshwindscattersthechildren'svoicesallabout.Mychildren,thoughtFannyElmer.Thewomenstandroundthepond,beatingoffgreatprancingshaggydogs.Gentlythebabyisrockedintheperambulator.Theeyesofallthenurses,mothers,andwanderingwomenarealittleglazed,absorbed.Theygentlynodinsteadofansweringwhenthelittleboystugattheirskirts,beggingthemtomoveon. AndFannymoved,hearingsomecry—aworkman'swhistleperhaps—highinmid-air.Now,amongthetrees,itwasthethrushtrillingoutintothewarmairaflutterofjubilation,butfearseemedtospurhim,Fannythoughtasifhetoowereanxiouswithsuchjoyathisheart—asifhewerewatchedashesang,andpressedbytumulttosing.There!Restless,heflewtothenexttree.Sheheardhissongmorefaintly.Beyonditwasthehummingofthewheelsandthewindrushing. Shespenttenpenceonlunch. "Dear,miss,she'sleftherumbrella,"grumbledthemottledwomanintheglassboxnearthedoorattheExpressDairyCompany'sshop. "PerhapsI'llcatchher,"answeredMillyEdwards,thewaitresswiththepaleplaitsofhairandshedashedthroughthedoor. "Nogood,"shesaid,comingbackamomentlaterwithFanny'scheapumbrella.Sheputherhandtoherplaits. "Oh,thatdoor!"grumbledthecashier. Herhandswerecasedinblackmittens,andthefinger-tipsthatdrewinthepaperslipswereswollenassausages. "Pieandgreensforone.Largecoffeeandcrumpets.Eggsontoast.Twofruitcakes." Thusthesharpvoicesofthewaitressessnapped.Thelunchersheardtheirordersrepeatedwithapprovalsawthenexttableservedwithanticipation.Theirowneggsontoastwereatlastdelivered.Theireyesstrayednomore. Dampcubesofpastryfellintomouthsopenedliketriangularbags. NellyJenkinson,thetypist,crumbledhercakeindifferentlyenough.Everytimethedooropenedshelookedup.Whatdidsheexpecttosee? ThecoalmerchantreadtheTelegraphwithoutstopping,missedthesaucer,and,feelingabstractedly,putthecupdownonthetable-cloth. "Didyoueverhearthelikeofthatforimpertinence?"Mrs.Parsonswoundup,brushingthecrumbsfromherfurs. "Hotmilkandsconeforone.Potoftea.Rollandbutter,"criedthewaitresses. Thedooropenedandshut. Suchisthelifeoftheelderly. Itiscurious,lyinginaboat,towatchthewaves.Herearethreecomingregularlyoneafteranother,allmuchofasize.Then,hurryingafterthemcomesafourth,verylargeandmenacingitliftstheboatonitgoessomehowmergeswithoutaccomplishinganythingflattensitselfoutwiththerest. Whatcanbemoreviolentthantheflin