laughed.
“Ted never goes in the water. Just suns himself like a lizard.”
She stretched out a toe and prodded him. He sprang up.
“Come and walk, Kay. I'm cold.”
They went off together along the beach.
“Like a lizard? Rather an unfortunate comparison,” murmured Mary Aldin, looking after them.
“Is that what you think of him?” asked Audrey.
Mary Aldin frowned.
“Not quite. A lizard suggests something quite tame. I don't think he is tame.”
“No,” said Audrey thoughtfully “I don't think so, either.”
“How well they look together!” said Mary, watching the retreating pair. “They match somehow, don't they?”
“I suppose they do.”
“They like the same things,” went on Mary. “And have the same opinions and -and use the same language. What a thousand pities it is that -” She stopped.
Audrey said sharply: “That what?”
Mary said slowly: “I suppose I was going to say what a pity it was that Nevile and she ever met.”
Audrey sat up stiffly. What Mary called to herself “Audrey's frozen look” had come over her face. Mary said quickly: “I'm sorry, Audrey. I shouldn't have said that.”
“I'd so much rather - not talk about it if you don't mind.”
“Of course, of course. It was very stupid of me. I -I hoped you'd got over it, I suppose.”
Audrey turned her head slowly. With a calm, expressionless face she said: “I assure you there is nothing to get over. I -I have no feeling of any kind in the matter. I hope -I hope with all my heart that Kay and Nevile will always be very happy together.”
“Well, that's very nice of you, Audrey.”
“It isn't nice. It is - just true. But I do think it is - well - unprofitable to keep on going back over the past. 'It's a pity this happened - that!' It is all over now. Why rake it up? We've got to go on living our lives in the present.”
“I suppose,” said Mary simply, “that people like Kay and Ted are exciting to me because - well, they are so different from anything or anyone that I have ever come across.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.”
“Even you,” said Mary with sudden bitterness, “have lived and had experiences that I shall probably never have. I know you've been unhappy - very unhappy -but I can't help feeling that even that is better than - well - nothing. Emptiness!”
She said the last word with a fierce emphasis.
Audrey's wide eyes looked a little startled. “I never dreamt you ever felt like that.”
“Didn't you?” Mary Aldin laughed apologetically. “Oh, just a momentary fit of discontent, my dear. I didn't really mean it.”
“It can't be very gay for you,” said Audrey slowly. “Just living here with Camilla -dear thing though she is. Reading to her, managing the servants, never going away.”
“I'm well fed and housed,” said Mary. “Thousands of women aren't even that. And really, Audrey, I am quite contented. I have” - a smile played for a moment round her lips - “my private distractions.”
“Secret vices?” asked Audrey, smiling also.
“Oh, I plan things,” said Mary vaguely. “In my mind, you know. And I like experimenting, sometimes - upon people. Just seeing, you know, if I can make them react to what I say in the way I mean.”
“You sound almost sadistic, Mary. How little I really know you!” “Oh, it's all quite harmless. Just a childish little amusement.” Audrey asked curiously: “Have you experimented on me?”
“No. You're the only person I have always found quite incalculable. I never know, you see, what you are thinking.”
“Perhaps,” said Audrey gravely, “that is just as well.”
She shivered and Mary exclaimed: “You're cold.”
“Yes. I think I will go and dress. After all, it is September.”
Mary Aldin remained alone, staring at the reflection on the water. The tide was going out. She stretched herself out on the sand, closing her eyes.
They had had a good lunch at the hotel. It was still quite full, although it was past the height
“Ted never goes in the water. Just suns himself like a lizard.”
She stretched out a toe and prodded him. He sprang up.
“Come and walk, Kay. I'm cold.”
They went off together along the beach.
“Like a lizard? Rather an unfortunate comparison,” murmured Mary Aldin, looking after them.
“Is that what you think of him?” asked Audrey.
Mary Aldin frowned.
“Not quite. A lizard suggests something quite tame. I don't think he is tame.”
“No,” said Audrey thoughtfully “I don't think so, either.”
“How well they look together!” said Mary, watching the retreating pair. “They match somehow, don't they?”
“I suppose they do.”
“They like the same things,” went on Mary. “And have the same opinions and -and use the same language. What a thousand pities it is that -” She stopped.
Audrey said sharply: “That what?”
Mary said slowly: “I suppose I was going to say what a pity it was that Nevile and she ever met.”
Audrey sat up stiffly. What Mary called to herself “Audrey's frozen look” had come over her face. Mary said quickly: “I'm sorry, Audrey. I shouldn't have said that.”
“I'd so much rather - not talk about it if you don't mind.”
“Of course, of course. It was very stupid of me. I -I hoped you'd got over it, I suppose.”
Audrey turned her head slowly. With a calm, expressionless face she said: “I assure you there is nothing to get over. I -I have no feeling of any kind in the matter. I hope -I hope with all my heart that Kay and Nevile will always be very happy together.”
“Well, that's very nice of you, Audrey.”
“It isn't nice. It is - just true. But I do think it is - well - unprofitable to keep on going back over the past. 'It's a pity this happened - that!' It is all over now. Why rake it up? We've got to go on living our lives in the present.”
“I suppose,” said Mary simply, “that people like Kay and Ted are exciting to me because - well, they are so different from anything or anyone that I have ever come across.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.”
“Even you,” said Mary with sudden bitterness, “have lived and had experiences that I shall probably never have. I know you've been unhappy - very unhappy -but I can't help feeling that even that is better than - well - nothing. Emptiness!”
She said the last word with a fierce emphasis.
Audrey's wide eyes looked a little startled. “I never dreamt you ever felt like that.”
“Didn't you?” Mary Aldin laughed apologetically. “Oh, just a momentary fit of discontent, my dear. I didn't really mean it.”
“It can't be very gay for you,” said Audrey slowly. “Just living here with Camilla -dear thing though she is. Reading to her, managing the servants, never going away.”
“I'm well fed and housed,” said Mary. “Thousands of women aren't even that. And really, Audrey, I am quite contented. I have” - a smile played for a moment round her lips - “my private distractions.”
“Secret vices?” asked Audrey, smiling also.
“Oh, I plan things,” said Mary vaguely. “In my mind, you know. And I like experimenting, sometimes - upon people. Just seeing, you know, if I can make them react to what I say in the way I mean.”
“You sound almost sadistic, Mary. How little I really know you!” “Oh, it's all quite harmless. Just a childish little amusement.” Audrey asked curiously: “Have you experimented on me?”
“No. You're the only person I have always found quite incalculable. I never know, you see, what you are thinking.”
“Perhaps,” said Audrey gravely, “that is just as well.”
She shivered and Mary exclaimed: “You're cold.”
“Yes. I think I will go and dress. After all, it is September.”
Mary Aldin remained alone, staring at the reflection on the water. The tide was going out. She stretched herself out on the sand, closing her eyes.
They had had a good lunch at the hotel. It was still quite full, although it was past the height
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