And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Another glass, Jack. These petals! I’ve been wanting to cry all the evening, cry here on your shoulder for my petals. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely.
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