There was a long silence. Bees buzzed in the flowers, making them bend and sway and nod to their weight; a grasshopper clicked and whirred on the lawn; swifts swooped and chided together in sliding companies; while the splash of oars or churn of a steamer sounded from the river. Then--such is the habit of the world--it struck them both how unlike themselves, unlike the ordinary presentment of themselves, that is to say, they were being, and simultaneously they swam out of the depths that were in reality the much more essential abode of them both. But the return to normal levels was short; they soon went down again; since those who have met or seen each other below always go back there. It is only those who have talked insincerely on deep matters who prefer to splash about on the surface. But a few surface remarks followed. "Yet it is almost certainly one's own fault if one is bored," said Catherine. "To be bored only shows that a bore is present--probably oneself. Yet, Maud ... if I tell him about the bazaars, and sales, and speeches, and so on, _he_ is bored; and they do make up a big part of my life." "On the surface," said she, "since we are being frank." "No, not on the surface, since we are contradicting each other. The deepest and most real part of me that I know is sorry for poor devils, and it expresses itself in these ways. And it is exactly that which gets on his nerves. If I get up from lunch because I have got to go somewhere, he is irritated. He thinks I am restless. Well, so I am. I want to be doing things, not eating stupid cutlets. What do you want me to do? What does he want me to do? Eat opium instead?" Maud gave a long sigh. "Oh, Cathy, that was a pity!" she said. Catherine gave a little hopeless gesture. "Oh yes; it was a pity. Lots of things are. Our attitude towards each other is a pity. But I'm sorry I said that. Oh, do help me! Let's be practical. Remember, I am at home when I am doing things. And I want to know what to do about a hundred things."