Three
Halfway¹ across the Park Iris² said:
“Do you mind if I don’t come back with you, George? I feel like a walk. I
thought I’d go up over Friar’s Hill and come down through the wood. I’ve
had an awful headache all day.”
“My poor child. Do go. I won’t come with you—I’m expecting a fellow
along sometime this afternoon and I’m not quite sure when he’ll turn up.”
“Right. Good-bye till teatime.”
She turned abruptly³ and made off at right angles to where a belt of
larches⁴ showed on the hillside.
When she came out on the brow of the hill she drew a deep breath. It
was one of those close humid days common in October. A dank moisture
coated the leaves of the trees and the grey cloud hung low overhead prom-
ising yet more rain shortly. There was not really much more air up here
on the hill than there had been in the valley, but Iris felt nevertheless as
though she could breathe more freely.
She sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and stared down into the val-
ley to where Little Priors nestled demurely⁶ in its wooded hollow. Farther
to the left, Fairhaven Manor⁷ showed a glimpse of rose red on brick.
Iris stared out sombrely over the landscape, her chin cupped in her
hand.
The slight rustle⁸ behind her was hardly louder than the drip of the
leaves, but she turned her head sharply as the branches parted and An-
thony Browne came through them.
She cried half angrily: “Tony! Why do you always have to arrive like—
like a demon⁹ in a pantomime?”
Anthony dropped to the ground beside her. He took out his cigarette
case, offered her one and when she shook her head took one himself and

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