..."
"Soames," interposed Aunt Juley, "told Mr. Bosinney that he didn't wish
it mentioned. He wouldn't like it to be talked about, I'm sure, and if
Timothy knew he would be very vexed, I...."
James put his hand behind his ear:
"What?" he said. "I'm getting very deaf. I suppose I don't hear people.
Emily's got a bad toe. We shan't be able to start for Wales till the
end of the month. There's always something!" And, having got what he
wanted, he took his hat and went away.
It was a fine afternoon, and he walked across the Park towards Soames's,
where he intended to dine, for Emily's toe kept her in bed, and Rachel
and Cicely were on a visit to the country. He took the slanting path
from the Bayswater side of the Row to the Knightsbridge Gate, across a
pasture of short, burnt grass, dotted with blackened sheep, strewn
with seated couples and strange waifs; lying prone on their faces, like
corpses on a field over which the wave of battle has rolled.
He walked rapidly, his head bent, looking neither to right nor, left.
The appearance of this park, the centre of his own battle-field, where
he had all his life been fighting, excited no thought or speculation
in his mind. These corpses flung down, there, from out the press and
turmoil of the struggle, these pairs of lovers sitting cheek by jowl for
an hour of idle Elysium snatched from the monotony of their treadmill,
awakened no fancies in his mind; he had outlived that kind of
imagination; his nose, like the nose of a sheep, was fastened to the
pastures on which he browsed.
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