vision of the drawing-room at home; it was
a large oblong room, with a square window opening on the garden. Green
plush chairs stood against the wall; there was a heavy carved book-case,
with glass doors, and a general impression of faded sofa covers, large
spaces of pale green, and baskets with pieces of wool-work dropping out
of them. Photographs from old Italian masterpieces hung on the walls,
and views of Venetian bridges and Swedish waterfalls which members of
the family had seen years ago. There were also one or two portraits of
fathers and grandmothers, and an engraving of John Stuart Mill, after
the picture by Watts. It was a room without definite character, being
neither typically and openly hideous, nor strenuously artistic, nor
really comfortable. Rachel roused herself from the contemplation of this
familiar picture.

"But this isn't very interesting for you," she said, looking up.

"Good Lord!" Hewet exclaimed. "I've never been so much interested in my
life." She then realised that while she had been thinking of Richmond,
his eyes had never left her face. The knowledge of this excited her.

"Go on, please go on," he urged. "Let's imagine it's a Wednesday. You're
all at luncheon. You sit there, and Aunt Lucy there, and Aunt Clara
here"; he arranged three pebbles on the grass between them.

"Aunt Clara carves the neck of lamb," Rachel continued. She fixed her
gaze upon the pebbles. "There's a very ugly yellow china stand in
front of me, called a dumb waiter, on which are three dishes, one for
biscuits, one for butter, and one for cheese. There's a pot of ferns.
Then there's Blanche the maid, who snuffles because of her nose. We
talk--oh yes, it's Aunt Lucy's afternoon at Walworth, so we're rather
quick over luncheon. She goes off. She has a purple bag, and a black
notebook. Aunt Clara has what they call a G.F.S. meeting in the
drawing-room on Wednesday, so I take the dogs out. I go up Richmond
Hill, along the terrace, into the park. It's the 18th of April--the same
day as it is here. It's spring in England. The ground is rather damp.
However, I cross the road and get on to the grass and we walk along, and
I sing as I always do when I'm alone, until we come to the open place
where you can see the whole of London beneath you on a clear day.
Hampstead Church spire there, Westminster Cathedral over there, and
factory chimneys about here. There's generally a haze over the low parts
of London; but it's often blue