“Well, but that’s long enough!”
(Long enough for what—wondered Loughlin?)
“Yes, it is longish.”
“If you really want to get rid of her you could tell her ...”
“Tell her what?”
“You know what to tell her!”
But her father looked bewildered and professed his ignorance.
“Take me in to her,” said Orianda, and they all walked across to “The Black Dog.” There was no one within; father and daughter went into the garden while Gerald stayed behind in a small parlour. Through the window that looked upon a grass plot he could see a woman sitting in a deck chair under a tree. Her face was turned away so that he saw only a curve of pink cheek and a thin mound of fair hair tossed and untidy. Lizzie’s large red fingers were slipping a sprig of watercress into a mouth that was hidden round the corner of the curve. With her other hand she was caressing a large brown hen that sat on her lap. Her black skirt wrapped her limbs tightly, a round hip and a thigh being rigidly outlined, while the blouse of figured cotton also seemed strained upon her buxom breast, for it was torn and split in places. She had strong white arms and holes in her stockings. When she turned to confront the others it was easy to see that she was a foolish, untidy, but still a rather pleasant woman of about thirty.
“How do you do, Lizzie?” cried Orianda, offering a cordial hand. The hen fluttered away as, smiling a little wanly, the woman rose.
“Who is it, ’Thaniel?” she asked.