“I tell you what, Levi,—it’s a most villainous contrivance of civilization, to pack stray people together under one roof, as you would cats into a home; each little group at table with their separate wine or beer or Apollinaris, not passing the bottle in good fellowship, but sticking labels on it, for its safer preservation. Chance companions are the finest to be had, on the road or at the inn, that I maintain. But this compulsory herding, this miserly meaningless thin-blooded——How’s the book getting on?”
“Nearly half-way through.”
“Rather quick work, isn’t it?”
“I must pelt ahead with it while I’m in the mood. I won’t show it to you till it’s complete, though.”
“Right!” Stuart was glad of the reprieve.
“He’s come!” announced Ethel Wynne, that afternoon. She had sighted a motor-car outside the house. A quiver of excitement thrilled the group gathered for tea under the lime trees, as Aureole walked away to welcome Vyvyan, on the threshold of the hall.
Vyvyan did not at once enter. He had first to seek a room near by for his cousin-once-removed. That is, unless Mrs. Strachey could manage.... No? Ah, well, doubtless they would find something. She had been so ill, the cousin, and had come down to Bournemouth for some fresh air. Mrs. Strachey would excuse him for an hour?... He appeared at dinner, a florid person, with an ingratiating smile under his auburn moustaches, and a debonair manner with the ladies. He was sure he would enjoy his stay at the Farme; had been looking forward to it immensely. A charming fellow; even Bertie’s sister succumbed to his fascinations. But Aureole was curiously frigid. After dinner, Vyvyan ran round to see if his cousin-once-removed were all right; she had been so ill! He was seen taking her for a little walk along the esplanade.
The same evening, Aureole had an earnest confabulation with her partner.
“We can’t have that sort of thing in the house,” with the demure severity of a Quakeress.