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Page 79
All the morning she sat beneath the pine-tree by the sea. Nobody
came near her. The great hours passed slowly; they seemed enormous.
But she wouldn't go up before lunch, she would give the telegram time
to arrive. . .
That day Scrap, egged on by Lotty's persuasions and also thinking
that perhaps she had sat long enough, had arisen from her chair and
cushions and gone off with Lotty and sandwiches up into the hills till
evening. Mr. Wilkins, who wished to go with them, stayed on Lady
Caroline's advice with Mrs. Fisher in order to cheer her solitude, and
though he left off cheering her about eleven to go and look for Mrs.
Arbuthnot, so as for a space to cheer her too, thus dividing himself
impartially between the these solitary ladies, he came back again
presently mopping his forehead and continued with Mrs. Fisher where he
had left off, for this time Mrs. Arbuthnot had hidden successfully.
There was a telegram, too, for her he noticed when he came in. Pity he
did not know where she was.
"Ought we to open it?" he said to Mrs. Fisher.
"No," said Mrs. Fisher.
"It may require an answer."
"I don't approve of tampering with other people's
correspondence."
"Tampering! My dear lady--"
Mr. Wilkins was shocked. Such a word. Tampering. He had the
greatest possible esteem for Mrs. Fisher, but he did at times find her
a little difficult. She liked him, he was sure, and she was in a fair
way, he felt, to become a client, but he feared she would be a
headstrong and secretive client. She was certainly secretive, for
though he had been skilful and sympathetic for a whole week, she had as
yet given him no inkling of what was so evidently worrying her.
"Poor old thing," said Lotty, on his asking her if she perhaps
could throw light on Mrs. Fisher's troubles. "She hasn't got love."
"Love?" Mr. Wilkins could only echo, genuinely scandalized. "But
surely, my dear--at her age--"
"Any love," said Lotty.
That very morning he had asked his wife, for he now sought and
respected her opinion, if she could tell him what was the matter with
Mrs. Arbuthnot, for she too, though he had done his best to thaw her
into confidence, had remained persistently retiring.
"She wants her husband," said Lotty.
"Ah," said Mr. Wilkins, a new light shed on Mrs. Arbuthnot's shy
and modest melancholy. And he added, "Very proper."
And Lotty said, smiling at him, "One does."
And Mr. Wilkins said, smiling at her, "Does one?"
And Lotty said, smiling at him, "Of course."
And Mr. Wilkins, much pleased with her, though it was still quite
early in the day, a time when caresses are sluggish, pinched her ear.
Just before half-past twelve Rose came slowly up through the
pergola and between the camellias ranged on either side of the old
stone steps. The rivulets of periwinkles that flowed down them when
first she arrived were gone, and now there were these bushes,
incredibly rosetted. Pink, white, red, striped--she fingered and smelt
them one after the other, so as not to get to her disappointment too
quickly. As long as she hadn't seen for herself, seen the table in the
hall quite empty except for its bowl of flowers, she still could hope,
she still could have the joy of imagining the telegram lying on it
waiting for her. But there is no smell in a camellia, as Mr. Wilkins,
who was standing in the doorway on the look-out for her and knew what
was necessary in horticulture, reminded her.
She started at his voice and looked up.
"A telegram has come for you," said Mr. Wilkins.
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