She was extremely nice to him throughout the meal, and even hinted at their doing something, spending the day, “and such a day.” It was a shame not to take advantage of the weather “as a family.” Quite a new idea, indeed, but he accepted it, and even began to suggest possible places. She was baffled again, and, as the terrible prospect of a whole day spent in James’s company, quite alone except for the girls, pressed about her, became almost hysterical in her hurriedly discovered reasons why, after all, it would never do. But he smiled at her, and although he was quite ready to do anything that she might suggest, it was a different kind of agreeing from a week or two ago.
She retired from the breakfast-table baffled.
He had been watching the door of the breakfast-room eagerly, and when he went out down into the garden he was still looking for the same figure. There was no longer, there could be no longer any disguise about the person, it was Mrs. Lester beyond any possible question; but he did disguise the reason. He wanted to talk to her, he liked to talk to her, just as he liked to talk to any understanding person, quite irrespective of sex. She had, of course, her atmosphere; it had a great deal in common with the place and the weather and the amazing riot of colour that the weather had brought. He saw her always as she had been on that first day, primrose, golden, in that dark dim drawing-room; but that he should think of her in that way didn’t show him, as it should have done, how the case was really beginning to lie.
He had the “Play-boy” on his knee and the light swung, as some great golden censor is swung before the High Altar, in waves of scent and colour backwards and forwards before him. He watched, looking eagerly down the sunlit path, but she did not come, and the morning passed in its golden silence and he was still alone.
It wasn’t indeed until after lunch that things began to move again, and then Tony came to him. He was in a glow of pleasure and excitement; she had written to him.
“It was most awfully clever; she only wrote it after I left last night and she hadn’t time to post it, of course, but she gave it to the old apple-woman—you know, down by the tower—and right under her father’s nose, and he hadn’t the least idea, and I’ve written back because I mayn’t, perhaps, get a word with her this afternoon, and old Morelli will be there.”
He sat on the edge of the stone wall, looking down at the town and swinging his legs. The town was in a blaze of sun, seen dimly through a haze of gold-dust. It hung like a lamp against the blue sky, because the mist gathered closely about its foundations, and only its roofs and pinnacles seemed to swing in the shifting dazzling sun before their eyes.
“The old apple-woman,” said Tony, “is simply ripping, and I think she must have had an awfully sad life. I should like to do something for her.” There were at least ten people a day for whom he wanted to do something. “I asked Bannister about her, but he wasn’t very interested; but that’s because his smallest baby’s got whooping-cough. He told me yesterday he simply whooped all night, and Mrs. Bannister had to sit up with it, which pretty well rotted her temper next day.” Tony paused with a consciousness that he was wandering from the point. “Anyhow, here’s her letter, Janet’s, I mean. I know she wouldn’t mind you seeing it, because you are in it almost as much as I am.” He held out the letter.
“Did Morelli see her give it to the apple-woman?” asked Maradick.
“Yes, she tells you in the letter. But he didn’t spot anything. He’s such a funny beggar; he seems so smart sometimes, and then other times he doesn’t see anything. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter much, because I’m going to see him now and tell him everything.”