g her fingers, that were growing slowly black,
scrabble the grass and fern, a feeling came on her of a Presence, a
creature with wings above and around, that seemed to have on its face a
long, mysterious smile of which she, Nedda, was herself a tiny twinkle.
She would bring Derek here. They two would sit together and let the
clouds go over them, and she would learn all that he really thought, and
tell him all her longings and fears; they would be silent, too, loving
each other too much to talk. She made elaborate plans of what they were
to do and see, beginning with the East End and the National Gallery, and
ending with sunrise from Parliament Hill; but she somehow knew that
nothing would happen as she had designed. If only the first moment were
not different from what she hoped!

She sat there so long that she rose quite stiff, and so hungry that she
could not help going home and stealing into the kitchen. It was three
o'clock, and the old cook, as usual, asleep in an armchair, with her
apron thrown up between her face and the fire. What would Cookie say if
she knew? In that oven she had been allowed to bake in fancy perfect
little doll loaves, while Cookie baked them in reality. Here she had
watched the mysterious making of pink cream, had burned countless 'goes'
of toffy, and cocoanut ice; and tasted all kinds of loveliness. Dear old
Cookie! Stealing about on tiptoe, seeking what she might devour, she
found four small jam tarts and ate them, while the cook snored softly.
Then, by the table, that looked so like a great loaf-platter, she stood
contemplating cook. Old darling, with her fat, pale, crumply face! Hung
to the dresser, opposite, was a little mahogany looking-glass tilted
forward. Nedda could see herself almost down to her toes. 'I mean to be
prettier than I am!' she thought, putting her hands on her waist. 'I
wonder if I can pull them in a bit!' Sliding her fingers under her
blouse, she began to pull at certain strings. They would not budge.
They were loose, yes, really too comfortable. She would have to get the
next size smaller! And dropping her chin, she rubbed it on the lace
edging of her chest, where it felt warm and smelled piny. Had Cookie
ever been in love? Her gray hairs were coming, poor old duck! The
windows, where a protection of wire gauze kept out the flies, were opened
wide, and the sun shone in and dimmed the fire. The kitchen clock ticked
like a conscience; a faint perfume