lu approached with expectation, not because of herself
but because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A large
photograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evident
eyes, evident lips, evident cheeks--and each of the six were rounded and
convex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glass
you could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump hands
and curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight's
brother.

Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour,
had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Or
were her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference,
lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. As
she dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her own
bodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picture
followed her, and she liked it.

She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round the
house and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smooth
blur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu
saw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and she
carried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di had
deliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south
window and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or of
criticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out on
something in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagine
herself sharing.

The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking.

"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait till
I rinse." And again: "You needn't be so glum"--the village salutation
signifying kindly attention.

Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily.

The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him,
and this she now divined, and said absently:

"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more."

"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made fun
of me all the time?"

At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed to
have her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly and
looked down. "I had to," she admitted. "They were all teasing me about
you."

"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her