Gareth recognized that he must make a start on the book, before his natural sloth wrapped itself in blanket-warm layers around inspiration. He tried, the following Sunday; but the machinery of midday dinner creaked loudly in the kitchen next door. Also, there were many barrel-organs in Hammersmith, and many children, and many church-bells; combination of blisses which rendered consistent thought impossible. The afternoon smelt heavy and headachy. Gareth decided not to start his book till he was in Ilfracombe. They were to go next Friday. Mrs. Worley, Lulu's sister-in-law, had written most cordially in reply to Kathleen's letter, hailing the Temples as: "a welcome addition to our little house-party" hinting at "acres of room" in Rapparee House if Mr. Temple cared to bring along Mr. Graham Carr, the famous author of "Piccadilly"—"Lulu tells me he and Mr. Temple are quite inseparable!" Finally, in a casual postscript: "By the way——" and mention of the inconspicuous weekly payment which would more than cover all expenses—"since you insist——"
"Too much," said Kathleen very decisively. And tore the letter in two. "That ends it."
Gareth assented. "It's more than we can afford, but——"
"If it's more than we can afford, it's too much."
"I suppose so...." London was like a grill ... and Ilfracombe, he knew, lay among hills aslant from the Atlantic.... He discovered he wanted to go to Rapparee House very much indeed. And wished Kathleen would not at once, and in manner suggestive of the snap of a handbag, close up all pleasant discussion of improbabilities.
"Shall I write to Mrs. Curtis, and ask if we can have our usual rooms at St. Leonards?"
"I hate St. Leonards; it was drawn with a ruler. There would be rocks and pools and valleys ... at Ilfracombe."
"I've heard it's frightfully hot."
"You only run it down now, because we can't go."
"You only crack it up for the same reason."