“There's nothing to see in here-these are the merest sketches,” he said abruptly. “Come along, Mrs. Elliot, I've been working since before breakfast; let's say good-morning to the flowers.” And with his arm linked through hers he piloted Constance back toward the lawn.
“Mr. Byrd ought never to wear tweed, do you think? It makes him look heavy,” remarked Felicity.
Again Mary had to suppress a feeling of irritation. “I rather like it,” she said. “It's so comfy and English.”
“Yes?” breathed Felicity vaguely, walking on.
Suddenly she appeared to have a return of animation.
She floated forward quickly for a few steps, turned with a swaying movement, and waited for Mary with hands and feet poised.
“The grass under one's feet, Mrs. Byrd, it makes them glad. One could almost dance!”
Again she fluttered ahead, this time overtaking Constance and Stefan, who had halted in the middle of the lawn. She swayed before them on tiptoe.
“Connie,” she was saying as Mary came up, “why does one not more often dance in the open?”
Though her lids still drooped she was half smiling as she swayed.