py
afternoon behind her and no one to discuss it with. Just because he
could not say, "Well, how was the Garden Home looking?"

He thought, "I'm hateful." He got up vigorously and strode into the
morning room: "Well, how was the Garden Home looking?" His voice was
bright and interested.

She was reading a magazine. She did not raise her eyes front the page.
"Eh? Oh, very nice. Delightful."

"Tell us about it."

"What? Oh ... yes." Her mind was in the magazine. She read on a moment.
Then she laid the magazine on her lap and looked up. "The Garden Home?
Yes--oh, yes. It was charming. It's simply springing up. You ought to
have come."

He stretched himself in a big chair opposite her. He laughed. "Well,
dash it, I like that. You didn't exactly implore me to."

She yawned. "Oh, well. I knew you wouldn't care about it." She yawned
again, "Oh dear. I'm tired. We must have walked miles, to and fro." She
put down her hands to take up her magazine again. She clearly was not
interested by his interest. But he thought, "Well, of course she's not.
For her it's like eating something after it's got cold. Dinner was the
time."

He said, "I expect you did--walk miles. Bagshaw all over it, I bet."

She did what he called "tighten herself." "Well, naturally, he's
pleased--enthusiastic. He's done more than any one else to keep the idea
going."

Sabre laughed. "I should say so! Marvellous person! What's he going to
do about not wearing clerical dress when he has to wear gaiters?"

"What do you mean--gaiters?"

Signs of flying up. What on earth for? "Why, when he's a bishop. Don't
you--"

She flew up. "I suppose that's some sneer!"

"Sneer! Rot. I mean it. A chap like Bagshaw's not going to be a parish
priest all his life. He's out to be a bishop and he'll be a bishop. If
he changed his mind and wanted to be a Judge or a Cabinet Minister, he'd
be a Judge or a Cabinet Minister. He's that sort."

"I knew you were sneering."

"Mabel, don't be silly. I'm not sneering. Bagshaw's a clever--"

"You say he's 'that sort.' That's a sneer." She put her hands on the
arms of her chair and raised herself to sit upright. She spoke with
extraordinary intensity. "Nearly everything you say to me or to my
friends is a sneer. There's always something behind what you say. Other
people notice it--"

"Other people."

"Yes. Other people. They say you're sarcastic. That's just a polite
way--"

He said, "Oh, come now, Mabel. Not sarcastic.