When I awoke I followed my instinct to Athena’s temple. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. “What was that?” she asked sharply. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Her orgasm began as an insistent throb. Send for Mr. ‘Eh bien.
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