The Limit Part 31

Mr. Stoendyck looked at him through his gla.s.ses, and said without interest--

"Indeed. I find Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, even on the piano, extraordinarily satisfying and refres.h.i.+ng to the mind after the strain of looking at English scenery." He drank a long draught of iced lager.

"Oh! Cla.s.sical, eh? I'm not up to that. Queen's Hall, eh? That sort of thing."

"I beg your pardon? Is there----Has the Queen a hall in this neighbourhood?"

"How do you mean, Professor?"

"What do you say?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Mrs. Campbell, who managed to hear through her own conversation with Van Buren, called out--

"E say e no understand," and nodded smilingly, seeming to think she had helped matters considerably.

Miss Campbell talked of tennis, matins, hats and the opera to Daphne, but appeared to be absent, and occasionally smiled at the foreigner, who ignored her.

At last the Campbells and their Belgian withdrew, Mrs. Campbell saying that the Prebendary wished them to go to Evensong. Their departure left, as such visits do, a blank and a reaction. Our friends were silent for a minute.

Then Vaughan said--

"I feel crushed, and a little flattened out, too."

"_I_ feel as if my brain were made of cotton wool," said Harry.

"Come and sing," suggested Daphne to Muir, and they went off to the drawing-room, from which strains were soon heard about _It IS not because_,--something or other.

In the middle of the song Daphne played a wrong note, stopped, and said--

"Oh, I wish Cyril was here!"

"So do I. If he can accompany, I wish he was here."

"Oh, go on!"

"_It IS not because thy heart is mine_"....

The party in the garden listened with a worried expression.

"How about croquet?" suggested Val. "The tapping noise will take it off."

"Yes. Come on."

"You can't," said Romer. "The lawn wants mowing."

CHAPTER XXVI

IN THE ROSE GARDEN

"How lovely this place must look at dawn!"

"By Jove! That's an idea, Gillie," said Harry. "It must look glorious."

They were sitting in the rose garden with Valentia. It was still quite light, though the sunset glow had nearly faded. There was a rich mellow tone in the sky, a promise of peace, a feeling that it was the end of the day, which, combined with the almost cloyingly sweet scent of the roses, was enough to make any one feel poetical.

"To think we've never seen the sun rise here!" exclaimed Valentia.

Romer here joined them, smoking a cigarette.

"Hasn't Romer ever seen the sun rise here?" Vaughan asked.

"Never," said Romer.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I suppose because it always happens after I've gone to bed," he answered drily.

"Let's sit up all night and see it to-morrow," suggested Valentia.

"Yes. Capital! Do let us!" said Harry.

Romer did not appear much taken with this scheme.

"Oh no, you mustn't _sit_ up," said Vaughan. "That's not the way to see it."

"Is there so much difference between staying up and getting up then?"

Val asked.

"Yes, indeed, all the difference in the world. You must get up fresh, with the birds."

"What time do birds get up? Is it _very_ early?"

"It would do if you were out at three this time of the year, or even at four."

"Well, let's do it!"

"Oh, I don't think I shall," said Harry.

He looked at Valentia.

She answered--