This story, The Garden Party, is a Mid-frequency Reader and has been adapted to suit readers with a vocabulary of 8000 words. It is available in three versions of different difficulty. This version is adapted from the Project Gutenberg version. It was adapted by Philippa Larkindale.


THE GARDEN PARTY.

And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more   perfect day for a garden - party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm,   the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light   gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been up since   dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark   flat circles where the daisy plants had been seemed to shine. As for   the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are   the only flowers that impress people at garden - parties; the only flowers   that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds,   had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though   they had been visited by angels.

Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee.

"Where do you want the marquee put, mother?"

"My dear child, it's no use asking me. I'm determined to leave   everything to you children this year. Forget I am your mother. Treat me   as an honoured guest."

But Meg could not possibly go and supervise the men. She had washed   her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her coffee in a green   scarf, with a dark wet curl stamped on each cheek. Jose, the butterfly,   always came down in her underwear and a Japanese jacket.

"You'll have to go, Laura; you're the artistic one."

Away Laura flew, still holding her piece of bread - and - butter. It's so   delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors, and besides, she   loved having to arrange things; she always felt she could do it so much   better than anybody else.

Four men in their shirt - sleeves stood grouped together on the garden   path. They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas, and they had big   tool - bags slung on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now   that she had not got the bread - and - butter, but there was nowhere to put   it, and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to   look severe and even a little bit short - sighted as she came up to them.

"Good morning," she said, copying her mother's voice. But that sounded   so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little   girl, "Oh -  - er -  - have you come -  - is it about the marquee?"

"That's right, miss," said the tallest of the men, a thin, freckled   fellow, and he shifted his tool - bag, knocked back his straw hat and   smiled down at her. "That's about it."

His smile was so easy, so friendly that Laura recovered. What nice eyes   he had, small, but such a dark blue! And now she looked at the others,   they were smiling too. "Cheer up, we won't bite," their smile seemed   to say. How very nice workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She   mustn't mention the morning; she must be business - like. The marquee.

"Well, what about the lily - lawn? Would that do?"

And she pointed to the lily - lawn with the hand that didn't hold the   bread - and - butter. They turned, they stared in the direction. A little   fat chap thrust out his under - lip, and the tall fellow frowned.

"I don't fancy it," said he. "Not conspicuous enough. You see, with a   thing like a marquee," and he turned to Laura in his easy way, "you want   to put it somewhere where it'll give you a bang slap in the eye, if you   follow me."

Laura's upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite   respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs slap in the eye. But she   did quite follow him.

"A corner of the tennis - court," she suggested. "But the band's going to   be in one corner."

"H'm, going to have a band, are you?" said another of the workmen.   He was pale. He had a worried look as his dark eyes scanned the   tennis - court. What was he thinking?

"Only a very small band," said Laura gently. Perhaps he wouldn't mind so   much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted.

"Look here, miss, that's the place. Against those trees. Over there.   That'll do fine."

Against the karakas. Then the karaka - trees would be hidden. And they   were so lovely, with their broad, gleaming leaves, and their clusters   of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert   island, proud, solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a   kind of silent splendour. Must they be hidden by a marquee?

They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making   for the place. Only the tall fellow was left. He bent down, pinched a   sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and snuffed   up the smell. When Laura saw that gesture she forgot all about the   karakas in her wonder at him caring for things like that -  - caring for   the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would have done such   a thing? Oh, how extraordinarily nice workmen were, she thought. Why   couldn't she have workmen for her friends rather than the silly boys she   danced with and who came to Sunday night supper? She would get on much   better with men like these.

It's all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on   the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to   hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn't   feel them. Not a bit, not an atom... And now there came the bang - bang   of wooden hammers. Some one whistled, some one sang out, "Are you right   there, matey?" "Matey!" The friendliness of it, the -  - the -  - Just to prove   how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt,   and how she despised stupid conventions, Laura took a big bite of her   bread - and - butter as she stared at the little drawing. She felt just like   a work - girl.

"Laura, Laura, where are you? Telephone, Laura!" a voice cried from the   house.

"Coming!" Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the path, up the steps,   across the veranda, and into the porch. In the hall her father and   Laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office.

"I say, Laura," said Laurie very fast, "you might just give a quick look at   my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pressing."

"I will," said she. Suddenly she couldn't stop herself. She ran at   Laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze. "Oh, I do love parties,   don't you?" gasped Laura.

"Ra - ther," said Laurie's warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister   too, and gave her a gentle push. "Dash off to the telephone, old girl."

The telephone. "Yes, yes; oh yes. Kitty? Good morning, dear. Come to   lunch? Do, dear. Delighted of course. It will only be a very scratch   meal -  - just the sandwich crusts and broken pastry - shells and what's   left over. Yes, isn't it a perfect morning? Your white? Oh, I certainly   should. One moment -  - hold the line. Mother's calling." And Laura sat   back. "What, mother? Can't hear."

Mrs. Sheridan's voice floated down the stairs. "Tell her to wear that   sweet hat she had on last Sunday."

"Mother says you're to wear that sweet hat you had on last Sunday. Good.   One o'clock. Bye - bye."

Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head, took a deep   breath, stretched and let them fall. "Huh," she sighed, and the moment   after the sigh she sat up quickly. She was still, listening. All the   doors in the house seemed to be open. The house was alive with soft,   quick steps and running voices. The green door that led to the   kitchen regions swung open and shut with a muffled thud. And now there   came a long, chuckling absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being moved   on its stiff wheels. But the air! If you stopped to notice, was the air   always like this? Little faint winds were playing chase, in at the tops   of the windows, out at the doors. And there were two tiny spots of   sun, one on the inkpot, one on a silver photograph frame, playing too.   Darling little spots. Especially the one on the inkpot lid. It was quite   warm. A warm little silver star. She could have kissed it.

The front door bell rang, and there sounded the rustle of Sadie's   print skirt on the stairs. A man's voice murmured; Sadie answered,   careless, "I'm sure I don't know. Wait. I'll ask Mrs Sheridan."

"What is it, Sadie?" Laura came into the hall.

"It's the florist, Miss Laura."

It was, indeed. There, just inside the door, stood a wide, shallow tray   full of pots of pink lilies. No other kind. Nothing but lilies -  -  big pink flowers, wide open, radiant, almost frighteningly alive on bright crimson stems.

"O - oh, Sadie!" said Laura, and the sound was like a little moan. She   crouched down as if to warm herself at that blaze of lilies; she felt   they were in her fingers, on her lips, growing in her breast.

"It's some mistake," she said faintly. "Nobody ever ordered so many.   Sadie, go and find mother."

But at that moment Mrs. Sheridan joined them.

"It's quite right," she said calmly. "Yes, I ordered them. Aren't they   lovely?" She pressed Laura's arm. "I was passing the shop yesterday, and   I saw them in the window. And I suddenly thought for once in my life I   shall have enough  lilies. The garden - party will be a good excuse."

"But I thought you said you didn't mean to interfere," said Laura. Sadie   had gone. The florist's man was still outside at his van. She put   her arm round her mother's neck and gently, very gently, she bit her   mother's ear.

"My darling child, you wouldn't like a logical mother, would you? Don't   do that. Here's the man."

He carried more lilies still, another whole tray.

"Bank them up, just inside the door, on both sides of the porch,   please," said Mrs. Sheridan. "Don't you agree, Laura?"

"Oh, I do, mother."

In the drawing - room Meg, Jose and good little Hans had at last succeeded   in moving the piano.

"Now, if we put this sofa against the wall and move everything   out of the room except the chairs, don't you think?"

"Quite."

"Hans, move these tables into the smoking - room, and bring a sweeper   to take these marks off the carpet and -  - one moment, Hans -  - " Jose loved   giving orders to the servants, and they loved obeying her. She always   made them feel they were taking part in some drama. "Tell mother and   Miss Laura to come here at once.

"Very good, Miss Jose."

She turned to Meg. "I want to hear what the piano sounds like, just   in case I'm asked to sing this afternoon. Let's try over 'This life is   Weary.'"

Pom! Ta - ta - ta Tee - ta! The piano burst out so passionately that   Jose's face changed. She clasped her hands. She looked mournfully and   enigmatically at her mother and Laura as they came in.

     "This Life is Wee - ary,         A Tear -  - a Sigh.         A Love that Chan - ges,           This Life is Wee - ary,         A Tear -  - a Sigh.         A Love that Chan - ges,         And then... Good - bye!"

But at the word "Good - bye," and although the piano sounded more   desperate than ever, her face broke into a brilliant, dreadfully   unsympathetic smile.

"Aren't I in good voice, mummy?" she beamed.

     "This Life is Wee - ary,         Hope comes to Die.         A Dream -  - a Wa - kening."

But now Sadie interrupted them. "What is it, Sadie?"

"If you please, m'm, cook says have you got the flags for the   sandwiches?"

"The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie?" echoed Mrs. Sheridan dreamily.   And the children knew by her face that she hadn't got them. "Let me   see." And she said to Sadie firmly, "Tell cook I'll let her have them in   ten minutes."

Sadie went.

"Now, Laura," said her mother quickly, "come with me into the   smoking - room. I've got the names somewhere on the back of an envelope.   You'll have to write them out for me. Meg, go upstairs this minute and   take that wet thing off your head. Jose, run and finish dressing this   instant. Do you hear me, children, or shall I have to tell your father   when he comes home to - night? And -  - and, Jose, reassure cook if you do go   into the kitchen, will you? I'm terrified of her this morning."

The envelope was found at last behind the dining - room clock, though how   it had got there Mrs. Sheridan could not imagine.

"One of you children must have stolen it out of my bag, because I   remember vividly -  - cream cheese and lemon - honey. Have you done that?"

"Yes."

"Egg and -  - " Mrs. Sheridan held the envelope away from her. "It looks   like mice. It can't be mice, can it?"

"Olive, pet," said Laura, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, of course, olive. What a horrible combination it sounds. Egg and   olive."

They were finished at last, and Laura took them off to the kitchen. She   found Jose there talking quietly to the cook, who did not look at all terrifying.

"I have never seen such exquisite sandwiches," said Jose's excited   voice. "How many kinds did you say there were, cook? Fifteen?"

"Fifteen, Miss Jose."

"Well, cook, I congratulate you."

Cook swept up crusts with the long sandwich knife, and smiled broadly.

"Godber's has come," announced Sadie, issuing out of the pantry. She had   seen the man pass the window.

That meant the cream puffs had come. Godber's were famous for their   cream puffs. Nobody ever thought of making them at home.

"Bring them in and put them on the table, my girl," ordered cook.

Sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Of course Laura and   Jose were far too grown - up to really care about such things. All the   same, they couldn't help agreeing that the puffs looked very attractive.   Very. Cook began arranging them, shaking off the extra icing sugar.

"Don't they carry one back to all one's parties?" said Laura.

"I suppose they do," said practical Jose, who never liked to be carried   back. "They look beautifully light and feathery, I must say."

"Have one each, my dears," said cook in her comfortable voice. "Yer ma   won't know."

Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast. The very idea   made one shudder. All the same, two minutes later Jose and Laura were   licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look that only comes   from whipped cream.

"Let's go into the garden, out by the back way," suggested Laura. "I   want to see how the men are getting on with the marquee. They're such   awfully nice men."

But the back door was blocked by cook, Sadie, Godber's man and Hans.

Something had happened.

"Tuk - tuk - tuk," clucked cook like an agitated hen. Sadie had her hand   clapped to her cheek as though she had toothache. Hans's face was   screwed up in the effort to understand. Only Godber's man seemed to be   enjoying himself; it was his story.

"What's the matter? What's happened?"

"There's been a horrible accident," said Cook. "A man killed."

"A man killed! Where? How? When?"

But Godber's man wasn't going to have his story snatched from under his   very nose.

"Know those little cottages just below here, miss?" Know them? Of   course, she knew them. "Well, there's a young chap living there, name of   Scott, a carter. His horse panicked at a traction - engine, corner of Hawke   Street this morning, and he was thrown out on the back of his head.   Killed."

"Dead!" Laura stared at Godber's man.

"Dead when they picked him up," said Godber's man with relish. "They   were taking the body home as I come up here." And he said to the cook,   "He's left a wife and five little ones."

"Jose, come here." Laura caught hold of her sister's sleeve and dragged   her through the kitchen to the other side of the green door. There   she paused and leaned against it. "Jose!" she said, horrified, "however   are we going to stop everything?"

"Stop everything, Laura!" cried Jose in astonishment. "What do you   mean?"

"Stop the garden - party, of course." Why did Jose pretend?

But Jose was still more amazed. "Stop the garden - party? My dear Laura,   don't be so absurd. Of course we can't do anything of the kind. Nobody   expects us to. Don't be so extravagant."

"But we can't possibly have a garden - party with a man dead just outside   the front gate."

That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a lane to   themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led up to the house.   A broad road ran between. True, they were far too near. They were   the greatest possible eyesore, and they had no right to be in that   neighbourhood at all. They were little mean dwellings painted a   chocolate brown. In the garden patches there was nothing but cabbage   stalks, sick hens and tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their   chimneys was poverty - stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so   unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridans'   chimneys. Washerwomen lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler, and   a man whose house - front was studded all over with minute bird - cages.   Children swarmed. When the Sheridans were little they were forbidden to   set foot there because of the revolting language and of what they might   catch. But since they were grown up, Laura and Laurie on their prowls   sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid. They came   out with a shudder. But still one must go everywhere; one must see   everything. So through they went.

"And just think of what the band would sound like to that poor woman,"   said Laura.

"Oh, Laura!" Jose began to be seriously annoyed. "If you're going to   stop a band playing every time some one has an accident, you'll lead a   very strenuous life. I'm every bit as sorry about it as you. I feel just   as sympathetic." Her eyes hardened. She looked at her sister just as she   used to when they were little and fighting together. "You won't bring a   drunken workman back to life by being sentimental," she said softly.

"Drunk! Who said he was drunk?" Laura turned furiously on Jose. She   said, just as they had used to say on those occasions, "I'm going   straight up to tell mother."

"Do, dear," cooed Jose.

"Mother, can I come into your room?" Laura turned the big glass   door - knob.

"Of course, child. Why, what's the matter? What's given you such a   colour?" And Mrs. Sheridan turned round from her dressing - table. She was   trying on a new hat.

"Mother, a man's been killed," began Laura.

"Not in the garden?" interrupted her mother.

"No, no!"

"Oh, what a fright you gave me!" Mrs. Sheridan sighed with relief, and   took off the big hat and held it on her knees.

"But listen, mother," said Laura. Breathless, half - choking, she told   the dreadful story. "Of course, we can't have our party, can we?" she   pleaded. "The band and everybody arriving. They'd hear us, mother;   they're nearly neighbours!"

To Laura's astonishment her mother behaved just like Jose; it was harder   to bear because she seemed amused. She refused to take Laura seriously.

"But, my dear child, use your common sense. It's only by accident we've   heard of it. If some one had died there normally -  - and I can't understand   how they keep alive in those horrid little holes -  - we should still be   having our party, shouldn't we?"

Laura had to say "yes" to that, but she felt it was all wrong. She sat   down on her mother's sofa and pinched the cushion frill.

"Mother, isn't it terribly heartless of us?" she asked.

"Darling!" Mrs. Sheridan got up and came over to her, carrying the hat.   Before Laura could stop her she had popped it on. "My child!" said her   mother, "the hat is yours. It's made for you. It's much too young for   me. I have never seen you look such a picture. Look at yourself!" And   she held up her hand - mirror.

"But, mother," Laura began again. She couldn't look at herself; she   turned aside.

This time Mrs. Sheridan lost patience just as Jose had done.

"You are being very absurd, Laura," she said coldly. "People like that   don't expect sacrifices from us. And it's not very sympathetic to spoil   everybody's enjoyment as you're doing now."

"I don't understand," said Laura, and she walked quickly out of the room   into her own bedroom. There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw   was this charming girl in the mirror, in her black hat trimmed with   gold daisies, and a long black velvet ribbon. Never had she imagined she   could look like that. Is mother right? she thought. And now she   hoped her mother was right. Am I being extravagant? Perhaps it was   extravagant. Just for a moment she had another glimpse of that poor   woman and those little children, and the body being carried into   the house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture in the   newspaper. I'll remember it again after the party's over, she decided.   And somehow that seemed quite the best plan...

Lunch was over by half - past one. By half - past two they were all ready   for the fray. The green - coated band had arrived and was established in a   corner of the tennis - court.

"My dear!" called Kitty Maitland, "aren't they too like frogs for   words? You ought to have arranged them round the pond with the conductor   in the middle on a leaf."

Laurie arrived and hailed them on his way to dress. At the sight of him   Laura remembered the accident again. She wanted to tell him. If Laurie   agreed with the others, then it was bound to be all right. And she   followed him into the hall.

"Laurie!"

"Hallo!" He was half - way upstairs, but when he turned round and saw   Laura he suddenly puffed out his cheeks and opened his eyes wide at her.   "My word, Laura! You do look stunning," said Laurie. "What an absolutely   topping hat!"

Laura said faintly "Is it?" and smiled up at Laurie, and didn't tell him   after all.

Soon after that people began coming in streams. The band struck up; the   hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee. Wherever you looked   there were couples strolling, bending to the flowers, greeting, moving   on over the lawn. They were like bright birds that had alighted in the   Sheridans' garden for this one afternoon, on their way to -  - where? Ah,   what happiness it is to be with people who all are happy, to press   hands, press cheeks, smile into eyes.

"Darling Laura, how well you look!"

"What a becoming hat, child!"

"Laura, you look quite Spanish. I've never seen you look so striking."

And Laura, glowing, answered softly, "Have you had tea? Won't you have   an ice? The passion - fruit ices really are rather special." She ran to   her father and begged him. "Daddy darling, can't the band have something   to drink?"

And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded, slowly its   petals closed.

"Never a more delightful garden - party... " "The greatest success... "   "Quite the most... "

Laura helped her mother with the good - byes. They stood side by side in   the porch till it was all over.

"All over, all over, thank heaven," said Mrs. Sheridan. "Round up the   others, Laura. Let's go and have some fresh coffee. I'm exhausted. Yes,   it's been very successful. But oh, these parties, these parties! Why   will you children insist on giving parties!" And they all of them sat   down in the deserted marquee.

"Have a sandwich, daddy dear. I wrote the flag."

"Thanks." Mr. Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was gone. He took   another. "I suppose you didn't hear of a beastly accident that happened   to - day?" he said.

"My dear," said Mrs. Sheridan, holding up her hand, "we did. It nearly   ruined the party. Laura insisted we should put it off."

"Oh, mother!" Laura didn't want to be teased about it.

"It was a horrible affair all the same," said Mr. Sheridan. "The chap   was married too. Lived just below in the lane, and leaves a wife and   half a dozen children, so they say."

An awkward little silence fell. Mrs. Sheridan fidgeted with her cup.   Really, it was very tactless of father...

Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those sandwiches,   cakes, puffs, all uneaten, all going to be wasted. She had one of her   brilliant ideas.

"I know," she said. "Let's make up a basket. Let's send that poor   creature some of this perfectly good food. At any rate, it will be the   greatest treat for the children. Don't you agree? And she's sure to   have neighbours calling in and so on. What a point to have it all ready   prepared. Laura!" She jumped up. "Get me the big basket out of the   stairs cupboard."

"But, mother, do you really think it's a good idea?" said Laura.

Again, how curious, she seemed to be different from them all. To take   scraps from their party. Would the poor woman really like that?

"Of course! What's the matter with you to - day? An hour or two ago you   were insisting on us being sympathetic, and now -  - "

Oh well! Laura ran for the basket. It was filled, it was heaped by her   mother.

"Take it yourself, darling," said she. "Run down just as you are. No,   wait, take the  lilies too. People of that class are so impressed by    lilies."

"The stems will ruin her lace frock," said practical Jose.

So they would. Just in time. "Only the basket, then. And, Laura!" -  - her   mother followed her out of the marquee -  - "don't on any account -  - "

"What mother?"

No, better not put such ideas into the child's head! "Nothing! Run   along."

It was just growing dusky as Laura shut their garden gates. A big dog   ran by like a shadow. The road gleamed white, and down below in the   hollow the little cottages were in deep shade. How quiet it seemed after   the afternoon. Here she was going down the hill to somewhere where a man   lay dead, and she couldn't realize it. Why couldn't she? She stopped   a minute. And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her. She had no   room for anything else. How strange! She looked up at the pale sky, and   all she thought was, "Yes, it was the most successful party."

Now the broad road was crossed. The lane began, smoky and dark. Women in   shawls and men's tweed caps hurried by. Men hung over the fence; the   children played in the doorways. A low hum came from the mean little   cottages. In some of them there was a flicker of light, and a shadow,   crab - like, moved across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on.   She wished now she had put on a coat. How her frock shone! And the   big hat with the velvet ribbon -  - if only it was another hat! Were the   people looking at her? They must be. It was a mistake to have come; she   knew all along it was a mistake. Should she go back even now?

No, too late. This was the house. It must be. A dark knot of people   stood outside. Beside the gate an old, old woman with a crutch sat in a   chair, watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as   Laura drew near. The group parted. It was as though she was expected, as   though they had known she was coming here.

Laura was terribly nervous. Tossing the velvet ribbon over her shoulder,   she said to a woman standing by, "Is this Mrs. Scott's house?" and the   woman, smiling queerly, said, "It is, my lass."

Oh, to be away from this! She actually said, "Help me, God," as she   walked up the tiny path and knocked. To be away from those staring eyes,   or to be covered up in anything, one of those women's shawls even. I'll   just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan't even wait for it to   be emptied.

Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in the gloom.

Laura said, "Are you Mrs. Scott?" But to her horror the woman answered,   "Walk in please, miss," and she was shut in the passage.

"No," said Laura, "I don't want to come in. I only want to leave this   basket. Mother sent -  - "

The little woman in the gloomy passage seemed not to have heard her.   "Step this way, please, miss," she said in an oily voice, and Laura   followed her.

She found herself in a wretched little low kitchen, lighted by a smoky   lamp. There was a woman sitting before the fire.

"Em," said the little creature who had let her in. "Em! It's a young   lady." She turned to Laura. She said , "I'm 'er sister, miss.   You'll excuse 'er, won't you?"

"Oh, but of course!" said Laura. "Please, please don't disturb her. I -  - I   only want to leave -  - "

But at that moment the woman at the fire turned round. Her face, puffed   up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked terrible. She seemed   as though she couldn't understand why Laura was there. What did it mean?   Why was this stranger standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it   all about? And the poor face wrinkled up again.

"All right, my dear," said the other. "I'll thank the young lady."

And again she began, "You'll excuse her, miss, I'm sure," and her face,   swollen too, tried an oily smile.

Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She was back in the passage.   The door opened. She walked straight through into the bedroom, where the   dead man was lying.

"You'd like a look at 'im, wouldn't you?" said Em's sister, and she   brushed past Laura over to the bed. "Don't be afraid, my lass," -  - and now   her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly she drew down the sheet -  - "'e   looks a picture. There's nothing to show. Come along, my dear."

Laura came.

There lay a young man, fast asleep -  - sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that   he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was   dreaming. Never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his   eyes were closed; they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given   up to his dream. What did garden - parties and baskets and lace frocks   matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful,   beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing,   this marvel had come to the lane. Happy... happy... All is well, said that   sleeping face. This is just as it should be. I am content.

But all the same you had to cry, and she couldn't go out of the room   without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud childish sob.

"Forgive my hat," she said.

And this time she didn't wait for Em's sister. She found her way out of   the door, down the path, past all those dark people. At the corner of   the lane she met Laurie.

He stepped out of the shadow. "Is that you, Laura?"

"Yes."

"Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right?"

"Yes, quite. Oh, Laurie!" She took his arm, she pressed up against him.

"I say, you're not crying, are you?" asked her brother.

Laura shook her head. She was.

Laurie put his arm round her shoulder. "Don't cry," he said in his warm,   loving voice. "Was it awful?"

"No," sobbed Laura. "It was simply marvellous. But Laurie -  - " She   stopped, she looked at her brother. "Isn't life," she stammered, "isn't   life -  - " But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite   understood.

"Isn't it, darling?" said Laurie.





   
