ove him, and he and Rachel had dropped to the bottom of
the world together. But with something of a child's directness, Mrs.
Flushing had also the instinct which leads a child to suspect what its
elders wish to keep hidden. She fixed Terence with her vivid blue eyes
and addressed herself to him in particular. What would he do, she wanted
to know, if the boat ran upon a rock and sank.

"Would you care for anythin' but savin' yourself? Should I? No, no," she
laughed, "not one scrap--don't tell me. There's only two creatures the
ordinary woman cares about," she continued, "her child and her dog;
and I don't believe it's even two with men. One reads a lot about
love--that's why poetry's so dull. But what happens in real life, he? It
ain't love!" she cried.

Terence murmured something unintelligible. Mr. Flushing, however, had
recovered his urbanity. He was smoking a cigarette, and he now answered
his wife.

"You must always remember, Alice," he said, "that your upbringing
was very unnatural--unusual, I should say. They had no mother," he
explained, dropping something of the formality of his tone; "and a
father--he was a very delightful man, I've no doubt, but he cared only
for racehorses and Greek statues. Tell them about the bath, Alice."

"In the stable-yard," said Mrs. Flushing. "Covered with ice in winter.
We had to get in; if we didn't, we were whipped. The strong ones
lived--the others died. What you call survival of the fittest--a most
excellent plan, I daresay, if you've thirteen children!"

"And all this going on in the heart of England, in the nineteenth
century!" Mr. Flushing exclaimed, turning to Helen.

"I'd treat my children just the same if I had any," said Mrs. Flushing.

Every word sounded quite distinctly in Terence's ears; but what were
they saying, and who were they talking to, and who were they, these
fantastic people, detached somewhere high up in the air? Now that they
had drunk their tea, they rose and leant over the bow of the boat. The
sun was going down, and the water was dark and crimson. The river had
widened again, and they were passing a little island set like a dark
wedge in the middle of the stream. Two great white birds with red lights
on them stood there on stilt-like legs, and the beach of the island was
unmarked, save by the skeleton print of birds' feet. The branches of
the trees on the bank looked more twisted and angular than ever, and the
green of the leaves was lurid and spla