Henrietta, rather impressed by the depths of her own thoughts, moved through the garden. Where was Charles? She wanted to see him and get their meeting over, but there was not a sign of him and, avoiding the croquet players and that shady corner where elderly ladies were clustered near the band, the same band which had played at the ball, Henrietta found herself in the kitchen garden. She examined the gooseberry bushes and strawberry beds with apparent interest, unwilling to join the guests and still more unwilling to be found alone in this deserted state. It was very hot. The open door of a little shed showed her a dim and cool interior; she peeped in and stepped back with an exclamation. Something had moved in there. It might be a rat or one of John’s ferocious terriers, but a voice said quietly, “It’s only me.” She stepped forward. “What are you doing in there?” “Getting cool,” Charles said. “I thought nobody would find me. Won’t you come in? It’s rather dirty in here, but it’s cool, and you can’t hear the band. I’ve been sitting on the handle of the wheelbarrow, so that’s clean, anyhow. I’ll wipe it with my handkerchief to make sure.” “But where are you going to sit?” “Oh, I don’t know.” “There’s room on the other handle.” Henrietta sat with her knees between the shafts, and he sat on the other handle with his back to her. “We can’t stay here long,” she said. “No,” Charles agreed. The place smelt musty, but of heaven. It was draped with cobwebs like celestial clouds; it was dark, but gradually the forms of rakes, hoes, spades and a watering-pot cleared themselves from the gloom and Charles’s head bloomed above his coat like a great pale flower. She put out her hand and drew it back again. She found nothing to say. Outside the sun poured down its rays like fire. Henrietta’s head drooped under her big hat. She was content to stay here for ever if Charles would stay, too. Her body felt as though it were imponderable, she had no feet, she could not feel the hard handle of the wheelbarrow; she seemed to be floating blissfully, aware of nothing but that floating, yet a threat of laughter began to tickle her. It was absurd to sit like this, like strangers in an omnibus. The laughter rose to her throat and escaped: she floated no longer, but she was no less happy. “What’s the matter?” asked the voice of Charles. “So funny, sitting like this.” “What else can we do?” “You could turn round.” “There’s not room for all our knees.” She stood up with a little rustle and walked to the door. “No, it’s too hot out there,” she said, and returned to face him. “Charles,” she said in rather a high voice, “did you find your hat and stick that night?” “What? Oh, yes,” and then irrelevantly he added, “I’ve just been made a partner.” “Really?” She was always interested in practical things. “In Mr. Batty’s firm? How splendid! I didn’t know you were any good at business.” “I’ve been improving, and you don’t know anything about me.”