“I must have me sunshade,” said she, “or I shall spoil me complexion.”
“That’ll never do,” said Colin. “None of your young men will fall in love with you, if you do that. I’ll get it for you. Which will you have, the blue one with pink ribands, or the pink one with blue ribands?”
“Neither, you wretch,” said Aunt Hester. “The yaller one.”
They found an encampment of basket-chairs under the elms beyond the terrace, and Colin went straight to the business on which he wanted certain information. This, too, was an outcome of his meditations in the swimming-pool.
“I asked father to take me out to Italy this summer,” he said, “and it was quite clear that he had some objection to it. Have you any idea what it was?”
“My dear, it’s no use asking me,” said Aunt Hester. “Your father’s never spoken to me about anything of the sort, and he ain’t the sort of man to ask questions of. But for all these years he has gone off alone for a month every summer. Perhaps he only just wants to get rid of us all for a while.”
Colin extended himself on the grass, shading his eyes against the glare with his hand. His ultimate goal was still too far off to be distinguished even in general outline, far less in any detailed aspect. He was but exploring, not knowing what he should find, not really knowing what he looked for.
“Perhaps that’s it,” he said. “In any case, it doesn’t matter much. But I did wonder why father seemed not to welcome the idea of my going with him. He usually likes to have me with him. He’s devoted to Italy, isn’t he, and yet he never talks about it.”
Colin spoke with lazy indifference, knowing very well that the surest way of getting information was to avoid any appearance of anxiety to obtain it, and, above all, not to press for it. Suggestions had to be made subconsciously to the subject.
“Never a word,” said Lady Hester, “and never has to my knowledge, since he brought you and Raymond back twenty years ago.”