sunshine as they wished. Fraulein departed into the house, Hermione
took up her embroidery, the little Contessa took a book, Miss Bradley
was weaving a basket out of fine grass, and there they all were on the
lawn in the early summer afternoon, working leisurely and spattering
with half-intellectual, deliberate talk.
Suddenly there was the sound of the brakes and the shutting off of a
motor-car.
'There's Salsie!' sang Hermione, in her slow, amusing sing-song. And
laying down her work, she rose slowly, and slowly passed over the lawn,
round the bushes, out of sight.
'Who is it?' asked Gudrun.
'Mr Roddice--Miss Roddice's brother--at least, I suppose it's he,' said
Sir Joshua.
'Salsie, yes, it is her brother,' said the little Contessa, lifting her
head for a moment from her book, and speaking as if to give
information, in her slightly deepened, guttural English.
They all waited. And then round the bushes came the tall form of
Alexander Roddice, striding romantically like a Meredith hero who
remembers Disraeli. He was cordial with everybody, he was at once a
host, with an easy, offhand hospitality that he had learned for
Hermione's friends. He had just come down from London, from the House.
At once the atmosphere of the House of Commons made itself felt over
the lawn: the Home Secretary had said such and such a thing, and he,
Roddice, on the other hand, thought such and such a thing, and had said
so-and-so to the PM.
Now Hermione came round the bushes with Gerald Crich. He had come along
with Alexander. Gerald was presented to everybody, was kept by Hermione
for a few moments in full view, then he was led away, still by
Hermione. He was evidently her guest of the moment.
There had been a split in the Cabinet; the minister for Education had
resigned owing to adverse criticism. This started a conversation on
education.
'Of course,' said Hermione, lifting her face like a rhapsodist, 'there
CAN be no reason, no EXCUSE for education, except the joy and beauty of
knowledge in itself.' She seemed to rumble and ruminate with
subterranean thoughts for a minute, then she proceeded: 'Vocational
education ISN'T education, it is the close of education.'
Gerald, on the brink of discussion, sniffed the air with delight and
prepared for action.
'Not necessarily,' he said. 'But isn't education really like
gymnastics, isn't the end of education the production of a
well-trained, vigorous, energetic mind?'
'Just as athletics produce a healthy body, ready for anything,' cried
Miss Bradley, in hearty accord.
Gudrun looked at her in silent loathing.
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