‘One more dip before dressing, Julian. You sit there and rest.’ He sat and watched while she slipped in again and, lying on her back, pushed off vigorously from the side with both feet and floated in a great ruffle of water to the other edge. Then she climbed out and stood opposite him, dripping and smiling. Something leapt into his eyes as they rested, for once, full on her: not admiration or desire, but something harsh and hostile, as if the sight of her exasperated him. ‘Oh, yes, it shows you off well,’ he said. ‘What does?’ ‘Your _maillot_. I suppose you weren’t aware of it?’ ‘No!’ She spat the word at him; and went quickly away. * * * * * They had supper at a white inn by the edge of the wood, about half a mile farther on. The same stream flowed, sedately now, through the garden; and a dark plump Madame with great glossy raven plaits brought omelettes and trout and salads and fruits to their table beneath the plane-tree. Birds were singing the last of their songs in all the branches. ‘Listen, Julian!--if that isn’t a thrush? What is he doing out of England? Can you imagine a French thrush? Oh, he sounds homesick!’ A sudden nostalgia overcame her. ‘I want to go home, too! I’m not a traveller. Sick for home--that’s what I am. This thrush and our pool are probably the things I shall most remember about France--and all because they made me think of England.... There was a girl at College I used to bathe with.... You’d have loved to look at her. Her name was Jennifer Baird....’ ‘Oh, I think I’ve met her.’ What was he saying so casually? ‘You’ve met her?’ Hands clasped, heart thumping, she stared at him. ‘Yes, I’m sure that was the name. I was staying in Scotland with some cousins of hers.’ ‘When, Julian?’ She could scarcely speak. ‘Last year, I believe. I remember now she was at Cambridge and said she knew you; but she wasn’t very forth-coming about you. I’d never have guessed from her that you were bosom friends.’ His voice sounded mocking. ‘No, you wouldn’t!’ she retorted, stung and scornful. ‘She doesn’t tell just anybody when----’ She checked herself; for perhaps after all it had been that Jennifer had not remembered her much in absence. She added quietly: ‘She was a person I knew well for a time. Tell me.... What did you think of her?’ ‘Oh, mad as a hatter. But she was more alive than most people. A flame, let us say.’ His voice was ambiguous, unkind. ‘You didn’t like her, then?’ ‘No, nor she me.’ He laughed briefly. ‘But she had a power, I admit. I intend to go and find her again some day. I dare say I might make her--like me.’