adn't "faith" he would never get well! It was absurd
not to have faith in the man who had healed Paul Post so that he had
only just relapsed, from having overworked, or overlived, himself
again. The great thing about this healer was that he relied on Nature.
He had made a special study of the symptoms of Nature--when his patient
failed in any natural symptom he supplied the poison which caused
it--and there you were! She was extremely hopeful. Her father had
clearly not been living a natural life at Robin Hill, and she intended
to provide the symptoms. He was--she felt--out of touch with the times,
which was not natural; his heart wanted stimulating. In the little
Chiswick house she and the Austrian--a grateful soul, so devoted to
June for rescuing her that she was in danger of decease from
overwork--stimulated Jolyon in all sorts of ways, preparing him for his
cure. But they could not keep his eyebrows down; as--for example--when
the Austrian woke him at eight o'clock just as he was going to sleep or
June took The Times away from him, because it was unnatural to read
"that stuff" when he ought to be taking an interest in "life." He never
failed, indeed, to be astonished at her resource, especially in the
evenings. For his benefit, as she declared, though he suspected that
she also got something out of it, she assembled the Age so far as it
was satellite to genius; and with some solemnity it would move up and
down the studio before him in the Fox-trot, and that more mental form
of dancing--the One-step--which so pulled against the music, that
Jolyon's eyebrows would be almost lost in his hair from wonder at the
strain it must impose on the dancers' will-power. Aware that, hung on
the line in the Water Colour Society, he was a back number to those
with any pretension to be called artists, he would sit in the darkest
corner he could find, and wonder about rhythm, on which so long ago he
had been raised. And when June brought some girl or young man up to
him, he would rise humbly to their level so far as that was possible,
and think: 'Dear me! This is very dull for them!' Having his father's
perennial sympathy with Youth, he used to get very tired from entering
into their points of view. But it was all stimulating, and he never
failed in admiration of his daughter's indomitable spirit. Even genius
itself attended these gatherings now and then, with its nose on one
side; and June always introduced it to her father. This, she