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sloped steeply up towards the foot of the terrace and the house； for one
standing on the higher ground it was easy to look over the dark barrier。
Looking up； Denis saw two heads overtopping the hedge immediately
above him。 He recognised the iron mask of Mr。 Bodiham and the pale；
colourless face of his wife。 They were looking over his head； over the
heads of the spectators； at the swimmers in the pond。
〃Disgusting！〃 Mrs。 Bodiham repeated； hissing softly。
The rector turned up his iron mask towards the solid cobalt of the sky。
〃How long？〃 he said； as though to himself； 〃how long？〃 He lowered his
eyes again； and they fell on Denis's upturned curious face。 There was an
abrupt movement； and Mr。 and Mrs。 Bodiham popped out of sight behind
the hedge。
Denis continued his promenade。 He wandered past the merry…go…
round； through the thronged streets of the canvas village； the membrane of
his soul flapped tumultuously in the noise and laughter。 In a roped…off
space beyond； Mary was directing the children's sports。 Little creatures
seethed round about her； making a shrill； tinny clamour； others clustered
about the skirts and trousers of their parents。 Mary's face was shining in
the heat； with an immense output of energy she started a three…legged race。
Denis looked on in admiration。
〃You're wonderful；〃 he said； coming up behind her and touching her
on the arm。 〃I've never seen such energy。〃
She turned towards him a face； round； red； and honest as the setting
sun； the golden bell of her hair swung silently as she moved her head and
quivered to rest。
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〃Do you know； Denis；〃 she said； in a low； serious voice； gasping a
little as she spoke〃do you know that there's a woman here who has had
three children in thirty…one months？〃
〃Really；〃 said Denis； making rapid mental calculations。
〃It's appalling。 I've been telling her about the Malthusian League。
One really ought。。。〃
But a sudden violent renewal of the metallic yelling announced the
fact that somebody had won the race。 Mary became once more the centre
of a dangerous vortex。 It was time； Denis thought； to move on； he might
be asked to do something if he stayed too long。
He turned back towards the canvas village。 The thought of tea was
making itself insistent in his mind。 Tea； tea； tea。 But the tea…tent was
horribly thronged。 Anne； with an unusual expression of grimness on her
flushed face； was furiously working the handle of the urn； the brown
liquid spurted incessantly into the proffered cups。 Portentous； in the
farther corner of the tent； Priscilla； in her royal toque； was encouraging the
villagers。 In a momentary lull Denis could hear her deep； jovial laughter
and her manly voice。 Clearly； he told himself； this was no place for one
who wanted tea。 He stood irresolute at the entrance to the tent。 A
beautiful thought suddenly came to him； if he went back to the house；
went unobtrusively； without being observed； if he tiptoed into the dining…
room and noiselessly opened the little doors of the sideboardah； then！
In the cool recess within he would find bottles and a siphon； a bottle of
crystal gin and a quart of soda water； and then for the cups that inebriate as
well as cheer。。。
A minute later he was walking briskly up the shady yew…tree walk。
Within the house it was deliciously quiet and cool。 Carrying his well…
filled tumbler with care； he went into the library。 There； the glass on the
corner of the table beside him； he settled into a chair with a volume of
Sainte…Beuve。 There was nothing； he found； like a Causerie du Lundi for
settling and soothing the troubled spirits。 That tenuous membrane of his
had been too rudely buffeted by the afternoon's emotions； it required a
rest。
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CHAPTER XXVIII。
Towards sunset the fair itself became quiescent。 It was the hour for
the dancing to begin。 At one side of the village of tents a space had been
roped off。 Acetylene lamps； hung round it on posts； cast a piercing white
light。 In one corner sat the band； and； obedient to its scraping and
blowing； two or three hundred dancers trampled across the dry ground；
wearing away the grass with their booted feet。 Round this patch of all
but daylight； alive with motion and noise； the night seemed preternaturally
dark。 Bars of light reached out into it； and every now and then a lonely
figure or a couple of lovers； interlaced； would cross the bright shaft；
flashing for a moment into visible existence； to disappear again as quickly
and surprisingly as they had come。
Denis stood by the entrance of the enclosure； watching the swaying；
shuffling crowd。 The slow vortex brought the couples round and round
again before him； as though he were passing them in review。 There was
Priscilla； still wearing her queenly toque； still encouraging the villagers
this time by dancing with one of the tenant farmers。 There was Lord
Moleyn； who had stayed on to the disorganised； passoverish meal that
took the place of dinner on this festal day； he one…stepped shamblingly； his
bent knees more precariously wobbly than ever； with a terrified village
beauty。 Mr。 Scogan trotted round with another。 Mary was in the
embrace of a young farmer of heroic proportions； she was looking up at
him； talking； as Denis could see； very seriously。 What about？ he
wondered。 The Malthusian League； perhaps。 Seated in the corner
among the band； Jenny was performing wonders of virtuosity upon the
drums。 Her eyes shone； she smiled to herself。 A whole subterranean
life seemed to be expressing itself in those loud rat…tats； those long rolls
and flourishes of drumming。 Looking at her； Denis ruefully remembered
the red notebook； he wondered what sort of a figure he was cutting now。
But the sight of Anne and Gombauld swimmi