"It sounds like Jerrold, doesn't it?" said Adeline. "Absurd children. Thank goodness they don't any of them know what they're talking about.... And here's tea." Indoors the music stopped suddenly and Colin came out, ready. "What's Jerrold doing?" he said. It was, as Eliot remarked, a positive obsession. iv Tea was over. Adeline and Anne sat out together on the terrace. The others had gone. Adeline looked at her watch. "What time is it?" said Anne. "Twenty past five." Anne started up. "And I'm going to ride with Jerrold at half-past." "Are you? I thought you were going to stay with me." Anne turned. "Do you want me to, Auntie?" "What do you think?" "If you really want me to, of _course_ I'll stay. Jerry won't mind." "You darling... And I used to think you were never going to like me. Do you remember?" "I remember I was a perfect little beast to you." "You were. But you do love me a bit now, don't you?" "What do you _think_?" Anne leaned over her, covering her, supporting herself by the arms of the garden chair. She brought her face close down, not kissing her, but looking into her eyes and smiling, teasing in her turn. "You love me," said Adeline; "but you'd cut me into little bits if it would please Jerrold." Anne drew back suddenly, straightened herself and turned away. "Run off, you monkey, or you'll keep him waiting. I don't want you ... Wait ... Where's Uncle Robert?" "Down at the farm." "Bother his old farm. Well--you might ask that father of yours to come and amuse me." "I'll go and get him now. Are you sure you don't want me?" "Quite sure, you funny thing." Anne ran, to make up for lost time. v The sun had come round on to the terrace. Adeline rose from her chair. John Severn rose, stiffly. She had made him go with her to the goldfish pond, made him walk round the garden, listening to him and not listening, detaching herself wilfully at every turn, to gather more and more of her blue flowers; made him come into the drawing-room and look on while she arranged them exquisitely in the tall Chinese jars. She had brought him out again to sit on the terrace in the sun; and now, in her restlessness, she was up again and calling to him to follow. "It's baking here. Shall we go into the library?" "If you like." He sighed as he said it. As long as they stayed out of doors he felt safe and peaceful; but he was afraid of the library. Once there, shut in with her in that room which she was consecrating to their communion, heaven only knew what sort of fool he might make of himself. Last time it was only the sudden entrance of Robert that had prevented some such manifestation. And to-day, her smile and her attentive attitude told him that she expected him to be a fool, that she looked to his folly for her entertainment. He had followed her like a dog; and as if he had been a dog her hand patted a place on the couch beside her. And because he was a fool and foredoomed he took it.