Page 117 - women-in-love

Luncheon was over, coffee was brought out on the grass,
the party left the table and sat about in lounge chairs, in the
shade or in the sunshine as they wished. Fraulein departed
into the house, Hermione took up her embroidery, the little
Contessa took a book, Miss Bradley was weaving a basket
out of fine grass, and there they all were on the lawn in the
early summer afternoon, working leisurely and spattering
with half-intellectual, deliberate talk.
Suddenly there was the sound of the brakes and the shut-
ting off of a motor-car.
‘There’s Salsie!’ sang Hermione, in her slow, amusing
sing-song. And laying down her work, she rose slowly, and
slowly passed over the lawn, round the bushes, out of sight.
‘Who is it?’ asked Gudrun.
‘Mr Roddice—Miss Roddice’s brother—at least, I sup-
pose it’s he,’ said Sir Joshua.
‘Salsie, yes, it is her brother,’ said the little Contessa, lift-
ing her head for a moment from her book, and speaking
as if to give information, in her slightly deepened, guttural
English.
They all waited. And then round the bushes came the
tall form of Alexander Roddice, striding romantically like
a Meredith hero who remembers Disraeli. He was cordial
with everybody, he was at once a host, with an easy, offhand
hospitality that he had learned for Hermione’s friends. He
had just come down from London, from the House. At once
the atmosphere of the House of Commons made itself felt
over the lawn: the Home Secretary had said such and such
a thing, and he, Roddice, on the other hand, thought such

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