Slide to View Image: Opacity 0%
THE WINDOW 15contentment on his round red face, gazing, and then,when he had gazed, dipping; imbuing the tip of hisbrush in some soft mound of green or pink. SinceMr Paunceforte had been there, three years before,all the pictures were like that she said, green andgrey, with lemon-coloured sailing-boats, and pinkwomen on the beach.

But her grandmother’s friends, she said, glancingdiscreetly as they passed, took the greatest pains;first they mixed their own colours, and then theyground them, and then they put damp cloths on themto keep them moist.

So Mr Tansley supposed she meant him to seethat that man’s picture was skimpy, was that whatone said? The colours weren’t solid? Was thatwhat one said? Under the influence of that extra-ordinary emotion which had been growing all thewalk, had begun in the garden when he had wantedto take her bag, had increased in the town when hehad wanted to tell her everything about himself, hewas coming to see himself and everything he had everknown gone crooked a little. It was awfully strange.

There he stood in the parlour of the poky littlehouse where she had taken him, waiting for her,while she went upstairs a moment to see a woman.He heard her quick step above; heard her voicecheerful, then low; looked at the mats, tea-caddies,glass shades; waited quite impatiently; looked for-ward eagerly to the walk home, determined to carry

her bag; then heard her come out; shut a door; say

they must keep the windows open and the doors shut,

ask at the house for anything they wanted (she mustbe talking to a child), when, suddenly, in she came,