The Garden-Party
Mansfield
.. 

  And after all the weather was ideal. They could not
have had a more perfect day for a garden-party if they
had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud.
Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes
in early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn,
mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the
dark flat rosettes where the daisy plants had been seemed to
shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood
that roses are the only flowers that impress people at
garden-parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of
knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in
a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they
had been visited by archangels.
  Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up
the marquee.
  "Where do you want the marquee put, mother?"
  "My dear child, it's no use asking me. I'm determined to
leave everything to you children this year. Forget I am your
mother. Treat me as an honoured guest."
  But Meg could not possibly go and supervise the men. She
had washed her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her
coffee in a green turban, with a dark wet curl stamped on each

 
cheek. Jose, the butterfly, always came down in a silk petticoat
and a kimono jacket.
  "You'll have to go, Laura; you're the artistic one."
  Away Laura flew, still holding her piece of bread-and-butter.
It's so delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors and
besides, she loved having to arrange things; she always felt
she could do it so much better than anybody else.
.. 

  Four men in their shirt-sleeves stood grouped together on
the garden path. They carried staves covered with rolls of
canvas and they had big tool-bags slung on their backs. They
looked impressive. Laura wished now that she was not holding
that piece of bread-and-butter, but there was nowhere to put
it and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed and
tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she
came up to them.
  "Good morning," she said, copying her mother's voice.
But that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and
stammered like a little girl, "Oh -- er -- have you come -- is it
about the marquee?"
  "That's right, miss," said the tallest of the men, a lanky,
freckled fellow, and he shifted his tool-bag, knocked back his
straw hat and smiled down at her. "That's about it."
  His smile was so easy, so friendly, that Laura recovered.
What nice eyes he had, small, but such a dark blue! And now
she looked at the others, they were smiling too. "Cheer up,
we won't bite," their smile seemed to say. How very nice
workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn't
mention the morning; she must be business-like. The marquee.
  "Well, what about the lily-lawn? Would that do?"
  And she pointed to the lily-lawn with the hand that didn't
hold the bread-and-butter. They turned, they stared in the
direction. A little fat chap thrust out his underlip and the tall
fellow frowned.
  "I don't fancy it," said he. "Not conspicuous enough. You
see, with a thing like a marquee" -- and he turned to Laura in his


easy way -- "you want to put it somewhere where it'll give you
a bang slap in the eye, if you follow me."
  Laura's upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether
it was quite respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs
slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him.
  "A corner of the tennis-court," she suggested. "But the
band's going to be in one corner."
  "H'm, going to have a band, are you?" said another of the
workmen. He was pale. He had a haggard look as his dark
eyes scanned the tennis-court. What was he thinking?
"Only a very small band," said Laura gently. Perhaps he
wouldn't mind so much if the band was quite small. But the
.. 

tall fellow interrupted.
  "Look here, miss, that's the place. Against those trees.
Over there. That'll do fine."
  Against the karakas. Then the karaka trees would be hidden.
And they were so lovely, with their broad, gleaming leaves,
and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you
imagined growing on a desert island, proud, solitary, lifting
their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendour.
Must they be hidden by a marquee?
  They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves
and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left.
He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and
forefinger to his nose and snuffed up the smell. When Laura
saw that gesture she forgot all about the karakas in her wonder
at him caring for things like that -- caring for the smell of
lavender. How many men that she knew would have done
such a thing. Oh, how extraordinarily nice workmen were,
she thought. Why couldn't she have workmen for friends rather
than the silly boys she danced with and who came to Sunday night
supper? She would get on much better with men like these.
  It's all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something
on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up
or left to hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her


part, she didn't feel them. Not a bit, not an atom.... And now
there came the chock-chock of wooden hammers. Someone
whistled, someone sang out, "Are you right there, matey?"
"Matey!" The friendliness of it, the -- the -- Just to prove
how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home
she felt, and how she despised stupid conventions, Laura took
a big bite of her bread-and-butter as she stared at the little
drawing. She felt just like a work-girl.
  "Laura, Laura, where are you? Telephone, Laura!" a voice
cried from the house.
  "Coming!" Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the
path, up the steps, across the veranda and into the porch. In
the hall her father and Laurie were brushing their hats ready
to go to the office.
  "I say, Laura," said Laurie very fast, "you might just give a
squiz at my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pressing."
.. 

  "I will," said she. Suddenly she couldn't stop herself. She
ran to Laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze. "Oh, I do
love parties, don't you?" gasped Laura.
  "Ra-ther," said Laurie's warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed
his sister too and gave her a gentle push. "Dash off to the
telephone, old girl."
  The telephone. "Yes, yes; oh yes. Kitty? Good morning,
dear. Come to lunch? Do, dear. Delighted, of course. It will
only be a very scratch meal -- just the sandwich crusts and broken
meringue-shells and what's left over. Yes, isn't it a perfect
morning? Your white? Oh, I certainly should. One moment
 -- hold the line. Mother's calling." And Laura sat back.
"What, mother? Can't hear."
  Mrs. Sheridan's voice floated down the stairs. "Tell her to
wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday."
  "Mother says you're to wear that s_w_e_e_t_ hat you had on last
Sunday. Good. One o'clock. Bye-bye."
  Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head,
took a deep breath, stretched and let them fall. "Huh," she


sighed, and the moment after the sigh she sat up quickly. She
was still, listening. All the doors in the house seemed to be
open. The house was alive with soft, quick steps and running
voices. The green baize door that led to the kitchen regions
swung open and shut with a muffled thud. And now there came
a long, chuckling absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being
moved on its stiff castors. But the air! If you stopped to
notice, was the air always like this? Little faint winds were
playing chase in at the tops of the windows, out at the doors.
And there were two tiny spots of sun, one on the inkpot, one
on a silver photograph frame, playing too. Darling little spots.
Especially the one on the inkpot lid. It was quite warm. A
warm little silver star. She could have kissed it.
  The front door bell pealed and there sounded the rustle of
Sadie's print skirt on the stairs. A man's voice murmured;
Sadie answered, careless, "I'm sure I don't know. Wait. I'll
ask Mrs. Sheridan."
  "What is it, Sadie?" Laura came into the hall.
  "It's the florist, Miss Laura."
  It was, indeed. There, just inside the door, stood a wide,
shallow tray full of pots of pink lilies. No other kind. Nothing
.. 

but lilies -- canna lilies, big pink flowers, wide open, radiant,
almost frighteningly alive on bright crimson stems.
  "O-oh, Sadie!" said Laura, and the sound was like a little
moan. She crouched down as if to warm herself at that blaze
of lilies; she felt they were in her fingers, on her lips, growing
in her breast.
  "It's some mistake," she said faintly. "Nobody ever ordered
so many. Sadie, go and find mother."
  But at that moment Mrs. Sheridan joined them.
  "It's quite right," she said calmly. "Yes, I ordered them.
Aren't they lovely?" She pressed Laura's arm. "I was passing
the shop yesterday, and I saw them in the window. And I
suddenly thought for once in my life I shall have enough canna
lilies. The garden-party will be a good excuse."


  "But I thought you said you didn't mean to interfere," said
Laura. Sadie had gone. The florist's man was still outside at
his van. She put her arm round her mother's neck and gently,
very gently, she bit her mother's ear.
  "My darling child, you wouldn't like a logical mother, would
you? Don't do that. Here's the man."
  He carried more lilies still, another whole tray.
  "Bank them up, just inside the door, on both sides of the
porch, please," said Mrs. Sheridan. "Don't you agree, Laura?"
  "Oh, I d_o_, mother."
  In the drawing-room Meg, Jose and good little Hans had at
last succeeded in moving the piano.
  "Now, if we put this chesterfield against the wall and move
everything out of the room except the chairs, don't you think?"
  "Quite."
  "Hans, move these tables into the smoking-room, and bring
a sweeper to take these marks off the carpet and -- one moment,
Hans -- " Jose loved giving orders to the servants and they
loved obeying her. She always made them feel they were
taking part in some drama. "Tell mother and Miss Laura to
come here at once."
  "Very good, Miss Jose."
  She turned to Meg. "I want to hear what the piano sounds
like, just in case I'm asked to sing this afternoon. Let's try over
'This Life is Weary."'
.. 

  P_o_m_! Ta-ta-ta T_e_e_-ta! The piano burst out so passionately
that Jose's face changed. She clasped her hands. She looked
mournfully and enigmatically at her mother and Laura as they
came in.
This Life is W_e_e_-ary,
A Tear -- a Sigh.
A Love that C_h_a_n_-ges,
 This Life is W_e_e_-ary,
A Tear -- a Sigh.
A Love that C_h_a_n_-ges,
And then...Good-bye!


But at the word "Good-bye," and although the piano sounded
more desperate than ever, her face broke into a brilliant, dreadfully
unsympathetic smile.
  "Aren't I in good voice, mummy?" she beamed.
This Life is W_e_e_-ary,
Hope comes to Die.
A Dream -- a W_a_-kening.
  But now Sadie interrupted them. "What is it, Sadie?"
  "If you please, m'm, cook says have you got the flags for
the sandwiches?"
  "The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie?" echoed Mrs. Sheridan
dreamily. And the children knew by her face that she hadn't
got them. "Let me see." And she said to Sadie firmly, "Tell
cook, I'll let her have them in ten minutes."
  Sadie went.
  "Now, Laura," said her mother quickly, "come with me into
the smoking-room. I've got the names somewhere on the back
of an envelope. You'll have to write them out for me. Meg,
go upstairs this minute and take that wet thing off your head.
Jose, run and finish dressing this instant. Do you hear me,
children, or shall I have to tell your father when he comes home
to-night? And -- and Jose, pacify cook if you do go into the
kitchen, will you? I'm terrified of her this morning."
  The envelope was found at last behind the dining-room clock,
though how it had got there Mrs. Sheridan could not imagine.
  "One of you children must have stolen it out of my bag,
because I remember vividly -- cream-cheese and lemon-curd.
Have you done that?"
  "Yes."
  "Egg and -- " Mrs. Sheridan held the envelope away from
her. "It looks like mice. It can't be mice, can it?"
  "Olive, pet," said Laura, looking over her shoulder.
  "Yes, of course, olive. What a horrible combination it
sounds. Egg and olive."


  They were finished at last, and Laura took them off to the
kitchen. She found Jose there pacifying the cook, who did
not look at all terrifying.
  "I have never seen such exquisite sandwiches," said Jose's
rapturous voice. "How many kinds did you say there were,
cook? Fifteen?"
  "Fifteen, Miss Jose."
  "Well, cook, I congratulate you."
  Cook swept up crusts with the long sandwich knife, and
smiled broadly.
  "Godber's has come," announced Sadie, issuing out of the
pantry. She had seen the man pass the window.
  That meant the cream puffs had come. Godber's were
famous for their cream puffs. Nobody ever thought of making
them at home.
  "Bring them in and put them on the table, my girl," ordered
cook.
  Sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Of course
Laura and Jose were far too grown-up to really care about such
things. All the same, they couldn't help agreeing that the puffs
looked very attractive. Very. Cook began arranging them,
shaking off the extra icing sugar.
  "Don't they carry one back to all one's parties?" said Laura.
  "I suppose they do," said practical Jose, who never liked to
be carried back. "They look beautifully light and feathery, I
must say."
  "Have one each, my dears," said cook in her comfortable
voice. "Yer ma won't know."
  Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast.
The very idea made one shudder. All the same, two minutes
later Jose and Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed
inward look that only comes from whipped cream.
.. 

  "Let's go into the garden, out by the back way," suggested
Laura. "I want to see how the men are getting on with the
marquee. They're such awfully nice men."


  But the back door was blocked by cook, Sadie, Godber's man
and Hans.
  Something had happened.
  "Tuk-tuk-tuk," clucked cook like an agitated hen. Sadie
had her hand clapped to her cheek as though she had toothache.
Han's face was screwed up in the effort to understand. Only
Godber's man seemed to be enjoying himself; it was his story.
  "What's the matter? What's happened?"
  "There's been a horrible accident," said cook. "A man
killed."
  "A man killed! Where? How? When?"
  But Godber's man wasn't going to have his story snatched
from under his very nose.
  "Know those little cottages just below here, miss?" Know
them? Of course she knew them. "Well, there's a young
chap living there, name of Scott, a carter. His horse shied at a
traction-engine, corner of Hawke Street this morning, and he
was thrown out on the back of his head. Killed."
  "Dead!" Laura stared at Godber's man.
  "Dead when they picked him up," said Godber's man with
relish. "They were taking the body home as I come up
here." And he said to the cook, "He's left a wife and five
little ones."
  "Jose, come here." Laura caught hold of her sister's sleeve
and dragged her through the kitchen to the other side of the
green baize door. There she paused and leaned against it.
"Jose!" she said, horrified, "however are we going to stop
everything.?"
  "Stop everything, Laura!" cried Jose in astonishment
"What do you mean?"
  "Stop the garden-party, of course." Why did Jose pretend?
  But Jose was still more amazed. "Stop the garden-party?
My dear Laura, don't be so absurd. Of course we can't do
anything of the kind. Nobody expects us to. Don't be so
extravagant."


  "But we can't possibly have a garden-party with a man dead
just outside the front gate."
  That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a
lane to
.. 

themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led
up to the house. A broad road ran between. True, they were
far too near. They were the greatest possible eyesore and they
had no right to be in the neighbourhood at all. They were
little mean dwellings painted a chocolate brown. In the garden
patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick hens and
tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys
was poverty-stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike
the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridan's
chimneys. Washerwomen lived in the lane and sweeps and a
cobbler and a man whose house-front was studded all over
with minute bird-cages. Children swarmed. When the
Sheridans were little they were forbidden to set foot there
because of the revolting language and of what they might catch.
But since they were grown up Laura and Laurie on their prowls
sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid.
They came out with a shudder. But still one must go everywhere;
one must see everything. So through they went.
  "And just think of what the band would sound like to that
poor woman," said Laura.
  "Oh, Laura!" Jose began to be seriously annoyed. "If
you're going to stop a band playing every time someone has an
accident, you'll lead a very strenuous life. I'm every bit as
sorry about it as you. I feel just as sympathetic." Her eyes
hardened. She looked at her sister just as she used to when
they were little and fighting together. "You won't bring a
drunken workman back to life by being sentimental," she
said softly.
  "Drunk! Who said he was drunk?" Laura turned furiously
on Jose, She said just as they had used to say on those occasions,
"I'm going straight up to tell mother."
  "Do, dear," cooed Jose.


  "Mother, can I come into your room?" Laura turned the
big glass door-knob.
  "Of course, child. Why, what's the matter? What's given
you such a colour?" And Mrs. Sheridan turned round from
her dressing-table. She was trying on a new hat.
  "Mother, a man's been killed," began Laura.
  "N_o_t_ in the garden?" interrupted her mother.
.. 

  "No, no!"
  "Oh, what a fright you gave me!" Mrs. Sheridan sighed
with relief and took off the big hat and held it on her knees.
  "But listen, mother," said Laura. Breathless, half choking,
she told the dreadful story. "Of course, we can't have our
party, can we?" she pleaded. "The band and everybody
arriving. They'd hear us, mother; they're nearly neighbours!"
  To Laura's astonishment her mother behaved just like Jose;
it was harder to bear because she seemed amused. She refused
to take Laura seriously.
  "But, my dear child, use your common sense. It's only by
accident we've heard of it. If someone had died there normally
 -- and I can't understand how they keep alive in those poky
little holes -- we should still be having our party, shouldn't we?"
  Laura had to say "yes" to that, but she felt it was all wrong.
She sat down on her mother's sofa and pinched the cushion frill.
  "Mother, isn't it really terribly heartless of us?" she asked.
  "Darling!" Mrs. Sheridan got up and came over to her,
carrying the hat. Before Laura could stop her she had popped
it on. "My child!" said her mother, "the hat is yours. It's
made for you. It's much too young for me. I have never seen
you look such a picture. Look at yourself!" And she held up
her hand-mirror.
  "But, mother," Laura began again. She couldn't look at
herself; she turned aside.
  This time Mrs. Sheridan lost patience just as Jose had done.
  "You are being very absurd, Laura," she said coldly. "People
like that don't expect sacrifices from us. And it's not very


sympathetic to spoil everybody's enjoyment as you're doing
now."
  "I don't understand," said Laura, and she walked quickly
out of the room into her own bedroom. There, quite by chance,
the first thing she saw was this charming girl in the mirror, in
her black hat trimmed with gold daisies and a long black velvet
ribbon. Never had she imagined she could look like that. Is
mother right? she thought. And now she hoped her mother
was right. Am I being extravagant? Perhaps it was extravagant.
Just for a moment she had another glimpse of that poor
woman and those little children and the body being carried
into the house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture
.. 

in the newspaper. I'll remember it again after the party's over,
she decided. And somehow that seemed quite the best plan...
  Lunch was over by half-past one. By half-past two they
were all ready for the fray. The green-coated band had arrived
and was established in a corner of the tennis-court.
  "My dear!" trilled Kitty Maitland, "aren't they too like frogs
for words? You ought to have arranged them round the pond
with the conductor in the middle on a leaf."
  Laurie arrived and hailed them on his way to dress. At the
sight of him Laura remembered the accident again. She wanted
to tell him. If Laurie agreed with the others, then it was bound
to be all right. And she followed him into the hall.
  "Laurie!"
  "Hallo!" He was half-way upstairs, but when he turned
round and saw Laura he suddenly puffed out his cheeks and
goggled his eyes at her. "My word, Laura! You do look
stunning," said Laurie. "What an absolutely topping hat."'
  Laura said faintly "Is it?" and smiled up at Laurie and didn't
tell him after all.
  Soon after that people began coming in streams. The band
struck up; the hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee.
Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to
the flowers, greeting, moving on over the lawn. They were like


bright birds that had alighted in the Sheridans' garden for this
one afternoon, on their way to -- where? Ah, what happiness
it is to be with people who all are happy, to press hands, press
cheeks, smile into eyes.
  "Darling Laura, how well you look!"
  "What a becoming hat, child!"
  "Laura, you look quite Spanish. I've never seen you look
so striking."
  And Laura, glowing, answered softly, "Have you had tea?
Won't you have an ice? The passion-fruit ices really are rather
special." She ran to her father and begged him: "Daddy
darling, can't the band have something to drink?"
  And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded,
slowly its petals closed.
.. 

  "Never a more delightful garden-party..." "The greatest
success..." "Quite the most..."
  Laura helped her mother with the good-byes. They stood
side by side in the porch till it was all over.
  "All over, all over, thank heavens," said Mrs. Sheridan.
"Round up the others, Laura. Lets' go and have some fresh
coffee. I'm exhausted. Yes, it's been very successful. But
oh, these parties, these parties! Why will you children insist
on giving parties!" And they all of them sat down in the
deserted marquee.
  "Have a sandwich, daddy dear. I wrote the flag."
  "Thanks." Mr. Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was
gone. He took another. "I suppose you didn't hear of a
beastly accident that happened to-day?" he said.
  "My dear',' said Mrs. Sheridan, holding up her hand, "we
did. It nearly ruined the party. Laura insisted we should put
it off."
  "Oh, mother!" Laura didn't want to be teased about it.
  "It was a horrible affair all the same," said Mr. Sheridan.
"The chap was married too. Lived just below in the lane, and
leaves a wife and half a dozen kiddies, so they say."


  An awkward little silence fell. Mrs. Sheridan fidgeted with
her cup. Really, it was very tactless of father...
  Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those
sandwiches, cakes, puffs, all uneaten, all going to be wasted.
She had one of her brilliant ideas.
  "I know," she said. "Let's make up a basket. Let's send
that poor creature some of this perfectly good food. At any
rate, it will be the greatest treat for the children. Don't you
agree? And she's sure to have neighbours calling in and so on.
What a point to have it all ready prepared. Laura!" She
jumped up. "Get me the big basket out of the stair cupboard."
,
  "But, mother, do you really think it's a good idea?" said
Laura.
  Again, how curious, she seemed to be different from them
all. To take scraps from their party. Would the poor woman
really like that?
  "Of course! What's the matter with you to-day? An
hour or two ago you were insisting on us being sympathetic."
,
  Oh well! Laura ran for the basket. It was filled, it was
now heaped by her mother.
.. 

  "Take it yourself, darling," said she. "Run down just as
you are. No, wait, take the arum lilies too. People of that
class are so impressed by arum lilies.
   "The stems will ruin her lace frock," said practical Jose.
  So they would. Just in time. "Only the basket, then. And,
Laura!" -- her mother followed her out of the marquee -- "don't
on any account -- "
  "What, mother?"
  No, better not put such ideas into the child's head! "Nothing!
Run along."
  It was just growing dusky as Laura shut their garden gates.
A big dog ran by like a shadow. The road gleamed white,
and down below in the hollow the little cottages were in deep


shade. How quiet it seemed after the afternoon. Here she
was going down the hill to somewhere where a man lay dead,
and she couldn't realise it. Why couldn't she? She stopped a
minute. And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons,
laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her.
She had no room for anything else. How strange! She looked
up at the pale sky, and all she thought was, "Yes, it was the
most successful party."
  Now the broad road was crossed. The lane began, smoky
and dark. Women in shawls and men's tweed caps hurried by.
Men hung over the palings; the children played in the doorways.
A low hum came from the mean little cottages. In some of
them there was a flicker of light, and a shadow, crab-like, moved
across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on. She
wished now that she had put on a coat. How her frock shone!
And the big hat with the velvet streamer -- if only it was another
hat! Were the people looking at her? They must be. It was
a mistake to have come; she knew all along it was a mistake.
Should she go back even now?
  No, too late. This was the house. It must be. A dark knot
of people stood outside. Beside the gate an old, old woman
with a crutch sat in a chair, watching. She had her feet on a
newspaper. The voices stopped as Laura drew near. The
group parted. It was as though she was expected, as though
they had know she was coming here.
  Laura was terribly nervous. Tossing the velvet ribbon over
.. 

her shoulder, she said to a woman standing by, "Is this Mrs.
Scott's house?" and the woman, smiling queerly, said, "It is,
my lass."
  Oh, to be away from this." She actually said, "Help me,
God," as she walked up the tiny path and knocked. To be
away from those staring eyes, or to be covered up in anything,
one of those women's shawls even. I'll just leave the
basket and go, she decided. I shan't even wait for it to be
emptied.


  Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in
the gloom.
  Laura said, "Are you Mrs.Scott?" But to her horror the
woman answered, "Walk in, please, miss," and she was shut
in the passage.
  "No," said Laura, "I don't want to come in. I only want to
leave this basket. Mother sent -- "
  The little woman in the gloomy passage seemed not to have
heard her. "Step this way, please, miss," she said in an oily
voce, and Laura followed her.
  She found herself in a wretched little low kitchen, lighted
by a smoky lamp. There was a woman sitting before the
fire.
  "Em," said the little creature who had let her in. "Em!
It's a young lady." She turned to Laura. She said meaningly,
"I'm 'er sister, miss. You'll excuse 'er, won't you?"
  "Oh, but of course!" said Laura. "Please, please don't
disturb her. I -- I only want to leave -- "
  But at that moment the woman at the fire turned round. Her
face, puffed up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked
terrible. She seemed as though she couldn't understand why
Laura was there. What did it mean? Why was this stranger
standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it all about?
And the poor face puckered up again.
  "All right, my dear," said the other. "I'll thenk the young
lady."
  And again she began, "You'll excuse her, miss, I'm sure,"
and her face, swollen too, tried an oily smile.
  Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She was
back in the passage. The door opened. She walked
straight through into the bedroom, where the dead man was
lying.
  "You'd like a look at 'im, wouldn't you?" said Em's sister,
and she brushed past Laura over to the bed. "Don't be afraid,
.. 

my lass" -- and now her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly


she drew down the sheet -- "'e looks a picture. There's nothing
to show. Come along, my dear."
  Laura came.
  There lay a young man, fast asleep -- sleeping so soundly, so
deeply, that he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so
remote, so peaceful. He was dreaming. Never wake him up
again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his eyes were closed;
they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given up to
his dream. What did garden-parties and baskets and lace frocks
matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was
wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the
band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane. Happy...
happy... All is well, said that sleeping face. This is just as it
should be. I am content.
  But all the same you had to cry, and she couldn't go out of
the room without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud
childish sob.
  "Forgive my hat," she said.
  And this time she didn't wait for Em's sister. She found her
way out of the door, down the path past all those dark people.
At the corner of the lane she met Laurie.
  He stepped out of the shadow. "Is that you, Laura?"
  "Yes."
  "Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right?"
  "Yes, quite, Oh, Laurie!" She took his arm, she pressed up
against him.
  "I say, you're not crying, are you?" asked her brother.
  Laura shook her head. She was.
 Laurie put his arm round her shoulder. "Don't cry," he
said in his warm, loving voice. "Was it awful?"
  "No," sobbed Laura. "It was simply marvellous. But,
Laurie -- "She stopped, she looked at her brother. "Isn't
life," she stammered, "isn't life -- " But what life was she
couldn't explain. No matter. He quite understood.
  "I_s_n_'_t_ it, darling?" said Laurie.