this time.
He sat in his room alone in the morning, playing his flute, playing over
from memory the tunes she loved, and imagining how he and she would get
into unison in the evening. His flute, his Aaron's rod, would blossom
once again with splendid scarlet flowers, the red Florentine lilies.
It was curious, the passion he had for her: just unalloyed desire, and
nothing else. Something he had not known in his life before. Previously
there had been always _some_ personal quality, some sort of personal
tenderness. But here, none. She did not seem to want it. She seemed
to hate it, indeed. No, all he felt was stark, naked desire, without a
single pretension. True enough, his last experience had been a warning
to him. His desire and himself likewise had broken rather disastrously
under the proving. But not finally broken. He was ready again. And with
all the sheer powerful insolence of desire he looked forward to the
evening. For he almost expected Manfredi would not be there. The
officer had said something about having to go to Padua on the Saturday
afternoon.

So Aaron went skipping off to his appointment, at seven o'clock. Judge
of his chagrin, then, when he found already seated in the salotta an
elderly, quite well-known, very cultured and very well-connected English
authoress. She was charming, in her white hair and dress of soft white
wool and white lace, with a long chain of filigree gold beads, like
bubbles. She was charming in her old-fashioned manner too, as if the
world were still safe and stable, like a garden in which delightful
culture, and choice ideas bloomed safe from wind and weather. Alas,
never was Aaron more conscious of the crude collapse in the world than
when he listened to this animated, young-seeming lady from the safe
days of the seventies. All the old culture and choice ideas seemed like
blowing bubbles. And dear old Corinna Wade, she seemed to be blowing
bubbles still, as she sat there so charming in her soft white dress,
and talked with her bright animation about the influence of woman
in Parliament and the influence of woman in the Periclean day. Aaron
listened spell-bound, watching the bubbles float round his head, and
almost hearing them go pop.

To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud
of his not-very-important social standing than of his literature. In
fact he was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad.
Perfectly well dressed for the e