The Trespasser

The air was warm and sweet in the little lane, remote from the sea,

which led them along their last walk. On either side the white path was

a grassy margin thickly woven with pink convolvuli. Some of the reckless

little flowers, so gay and evanescent, had climbed the trunks of an old

yew tree, and were looking up pertly at their rough host.

Helena walked along, watching the flowers, and making fancies out of

them.

'Who called them "fairies' telephones"?' she said to herself. 'They are

tiny children in pinafores. How gay they are! They are children dawdling

along the pavement of a morning. How fortunate they are! See how they

take a wind-thrill! See how wide they are set to the sunshine! And when

they are tired, they will curl daintily to sleep, and some fairies in

the dark will gather them away. They won't be here in the morning,

shrivelled and dowdy ... If only we could curl up and be gone, after

our day....' She looked at Siegmund. He was walking moodily beside her.

'It is good when life holds no anti-climax,' she said.

'Ay!' he answered. Of course, he could not understand her meaning.

She strayed into the thick grass, a sturdy white figure that walked with

bent head, abstract, but happy.

'What is she thinking?' he asked himself. 'She is sufficient to

herself--she doesn't want me. She has her own private way of communing

with things, and is friends with them.' 'The dew has been very heavy,' she said, turning, and looking up at him

from under her brows, like a smiling witch.

'I see it has,' he answered. Then to himself he said: 'She can't

translate herself into language. She is incommunicable; she can't render

herself to the intelligence. So she is alone and a law unto herself: she

only wants me to explore me, like a rock-pool, and to bathe in me. After

a while, when I am gone, she will see I was not indispensable....' The lane led up to the eastern down. As they were emerging, they saw on

the left hand an extraordinarily spick and span red bungalow. The low

roof of dusky red sloped down towards the coolest green lawn, that was

edged and ornamented with scarlet, and yellow, and white flowers

brilliant with dew.

A stout man in an alpaca jacket and panama hat was seated on the bare

lawn, his back to the sun, reading a newspaper. He tried in vain to

avoid the glare of the sun on his reading. At last he closed the paper

and looked angrily at the house--not at anything in particular.