Then the
five-o'clock-tea could go on in peace."
"With one little drawback!', Lady Muriel gaily interrupted.
"We should take the cups down with us: but what about the tea?"
"I had forgotten the tea," Arthur confessed. "That, no doubt, would
rise to the ceiling unless you chose to drink it on the way!"
"Which, I think, is quite nonsense enough for one while!" said the
Earl. "What news does this gentleman bring us from the great world of
London?"
This drew me into the conversation, which now took a more conventional
tone. After a while, Arthur gave the signal for our departure, and in
the cool of the evening we strolled down to the beach, enjoying the
silence, broken only by the murmur of the sea and the far-away music of
some fishermen's song, almost as much as our late pleasant talk.
We sat down among the rocks, by a little pool, so rich in animal,
vegetable, and zoophytic --or whatever is the right word--life,
that I became entranced in the study of it, and, when Arthur proposed
returning to our lodgings, I begged to be left there for a while,
to watch and muse alone.
The fishermen's song grew ever nearer and clearer, as their boat stood
in for the beach; and I would have gone down to see them land their
cargo of fish, had not the microcosm at my feet stirred my curiosity
yet more keenly.
One ancient crab, that was for ever shuffling frantically from side to
side of the pool, had particularly fascinated me: there was a vacancy
in its stare, and an aimless violence in its behaviour, that
irresistibly recalled the Gardener who had befriended Sylvie and Bruno:
and, as I gazed, I caught the concluding notes of the tune of his crazy
song.
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