"Why again?" said I. "You see, my dear, we're not facing it now. If we were, it would be different. But now we're in a backwater. In an hour or two we shall be on the broad stream of Life once more. The current is very strong sometimes. But here there is no current, nor any time, nor action. Only the sun makes shining patches on the water, while now and again dragon-flies dart through the sleepy hum of insect life, like bright thoughts flashing across a reverie. Now, isn't that nice? I really don't know how I do it. But to resume. No one knew of our turning aside—no one will see us return. For us the universe is standing still. And there's the tea. Come, madam wife, sit by my side, and let the world slip; we shall ne'er be younger."
She looked at me critically, bending her brows. Then:
"I should never have married you," she said, "if I had known there was insanity in your family."
Tea was set out under the trees on the lawn, between the house and the drive. On three sides roses and honey-suckle screened the table from view. The fourth lay open to the sinking sun and the park and the distant hills. The footman had been joined by a butler, who bowed at our approach. In silence she poured out the tea. Then:
"Sugar?" she said, without thinking.
"Ahem! Not to—day, thanks, dear. I had mine in the champagne."
As the footman handed me the cucumber sandwiches, his hand shook a little. I went on ruthlessly:
"Talking of which, did you notice the detectives?"
"No," she said. "What about them?"
"Wall-eyed, my dear, all of them. Cost me two-and-six extra, but I thought it was worth it. Worries the thieves awfully, you know. They can't tell whether they're watching the fish-slice or the 'Longfellow'. And all the time they're really counting the marron glaces. It's called 'getting the wall—eye.'"