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But
this
question
of
love
(
she
thought
,
putting
her
coat
away
)
,
this
falling
in
love
with
women
.
Take
Sally
Seton
;
her
relation
in
the
old
days
with
Sally
Seton
.
Had
not
that
,
after
all
,
been
love
?
She
sat
on
the
floor
--
that
was
her
first
impression
of
Sally
--
she
sat
on
the
floor
with
her
arms
round
her
knees
,
smoking
a
cigarette
.
Where
could
it
have
been
?
The
Mannings
?
The
Kinloch-Jones
's
?
At
some
party
(
where
,
she
could
not
be
certain
)
,
for
she
had
a
distinct
recollection
of
saying
to
the
man
she
was
with
,
"
Who
is
THAT
?
"
And
he
had
told
her
,
and
said
that
Sally
's
parents
did
not
get
on
(
how
that
shocked
her
--
that
one
's
parents
should
quarrel
!
)
.
But
all
that
evening
she
could
not
take
her
eyes
off
Sally
.
It
was
an
extraordinary
beauty
of
the
kind
she
most
admired
,
dark
,
large-eyed
,
with
that
quality
which
,
since
she
had
n't
got
it
herself
,
she
always
envied
--
a
sort
of
abandonment
,
as
if
she
could
say
anything
,
do
anything
;
a
quality
much
commoner
in
foreigners
than
in
Englishwomen
.
Sally
always
said
she
had
French
blood
in
her
veins
,
an
ancestor
had
been
with
Marie
Antoinette
,
had
his
head
cut
off
,
left
a
ruby
ring
.
Perhaps
that
summer
she
came
to
stay
at
Bourton
,
walking
in
quite
unexpectedly
without
a
penny
in
her
pocket
,
one
night
after
dinner
,
and
upsetting
poor
Aunt
Helena
to
such
an
extent
that
she
never
forgave
her
.
There
had
been
some
quarrel
at
home
.
She
literally
had
n't
a
penny
that
night
when
she
came
to
them
--
had
pawned
a
brooch
to
come
down
.
She
had
rushed
off
in
a
passion
.
They
sat
up
till
all
hours
of
the
night
talking
.
Sally
it
was
who
made
her
feel
,
for
the
first
time
,
how
sheltered
the
life
at
Bourton
was
.
She
knew
nothing
about
sex
--
nothing
about
social
problems
.
She
had
once
seen
an
old
man
who
had
dropped
dead
in
a
field
--
she
had
seen
cows
just
after
their
calves
were
born
.
But
Aunt
Helena
never
liked
discussion
of
anything
(
when
Sally
gave
her
William
Morris
,
it
had
to
be
wrapped
in
brown
paper
)
.
There
they
sat
,
hour
after
hour
,
talking
in
her
bedroom
at
the
top
of
the
house
,
talking
about
life
,
how
they
were
to
reform
the
world
.
They
meant
to
found
a
society
to
abolish
private
property
,
and
actually
had
a
letter
written
,
though
not
sent
out
.
The
ideas
were
Sally
's
,
of
course
--
but
very
soon
she
was
just
as
excited
--
read
Plato
in
bed
before
breakfast
;
read
Morris
;
read
Shelley
by
the
hour
.
Sally
's
power
was
amazing
,
her
gift
,
her
personality
.
There
was
her
way
with
flowers
,
for
instance
.
At
Bourton
they
always
had
stiff
little
vases
all
the
way
down
the
table
.
Sally
went
out
,
picked
hollyhocks
,
dahlias
--
all
sorts
of
flowers
that
had
never
been
seen
together
--
cut
their
heads
off
,
and
made
them
swim
on
the
top
of
water
in
bowls
.
The
effect
was
extraordinary
--
coming
in
to
dinner
in
the
sunset
.
(
Of
course
Aunt
Helena
thought
it
wicked
to
treat
flowers
like
that
.
)
Then
she
forgot
her
sponge
,
and
ran
along
the
passage
naked
.
That
grim
old
housemaid
,
Ellen
Atkins
,
went
about
grumbling
--
"
Suppose
any
of
the
gentlemen
had
seen
?
"
Indeed
she
did
shock
people
.
She
was
untidy
,
Papa
said
.
The
strange
thing
,
on
looking
back
,
was
the
purity
,
the
integrity
,
of
her
feeling
for
Sally
.
It
was
not
like
one
's
feeling
for
a
man
.
It
was
completely
disinterested
,
and
besides
,
it
had
a
quality
which
could
only
exist
between
women
,
between
women
just
grown
up
.
It
was
protective
,
on
her
side
;
sprang
from
a
sense
of
being
in
league
together
,
a
presentiment
of
something
that
was
bound
to
part
them
(
they
spoke
of
marriage
always
as
a
catastrophe
)
,
which
led
to
this
chivalry
,
this
protective
feeling
which
was
much
more
on
her
side
than
Sally
's
.
For
in
those
days
she
was
completely
reckless
;
did
the
most
idiotic
things
out
of
bravado
;
bicycled
round
the
parapet
on
the
terrace
;
smoked
cigars
.
Absurd
,
she
was
--
very
absurd
.
But
the
charm
was
overpowering
,
to
her
at
least
,
so
that
she
could
remember
standing
in
her
bedroom
at
the
top
of
the
house
holding
the
hot-water
can
in
her
hands
and
saying
aloud
,
"
She
is
beneath
this
roof
...
She
is
beneath
this
roof
!
"
No
,
the
words
meant
absolutely
nothing
to
her
now
.
She
could
not
even
get
an
echo
of
her
old
emotion
.
But
she
could
remember
going
cold
with
excitement
,
and
doing
her
hair
in
a
kind
of
ecstasy
(
now
the
old
feeling
began
to
come
back
to
her
,
as
she
took
out
her
hairpins
,
laid
them
on
the
dressing-table
,
began
to
do
her
hair
)
,
with
the
rooks
flaunting
up
and
down
in
the
pink
evening
light
,
and
dressing
,
and
going
downstairs
,
and
feeling
as
she
crossed
the
hall
"
if
it
were
now
to
die
'
twere
now
to
be
most
happy
.
"
That
was
her
feeling
--
Othello
's
feeling
,
and
she
felt
it
,
she
was
convinced
,
as
strongly
as
Shakespeare
meant
Othello
to
feel
it
,
all
because
she
was
coming
down
to
dinner
in
a
white
frock
to
meet
Sally
Seton
!
She
was
wearing
pink
gauze
--
was
that
possible
?
She
SEEMED
,
anyhow
,
all
light
,
glowing
,
like
some
bird
or
air
ball
that
has
flown
in
,
attached
itself
for
a
moment
to
a
bramble
.
But
nothing
is
so
strange
when
one
is
in
love
(
and
what
was
this
except
being
in
love
?
)
as
the
complete
indifference
of
other
people
.
Aunt
Helena
just
wandered
off
after
dinner
;
Papa
read
the
paper
.
Peter
Walsh
might
have
been
there
,
and
old
Miss
Cummings
;
Joseph
Breitkopf
certainly
was
,
for
he
came
every
summer
,
poor
old
man
,
for
weeks
and
weeks
,
and
pretended
to
read
German
with
her
,
but
really
played
the
piano
and
sang
Brahms
without
any
voice
.
