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Chapter 11

           

           “Don’texpecttofindmeathome,”CharlesGouldwarnedhim.“I’llbeoffearlytothemine.”

           Afterlunch,DonaEmiliaandthesenordoctorcameslowlythroughtheinnergatewayofthepatio.ThelargegardensoftheCasaGould,surroundedbyhighwalls,andthered-tileslopesofneighbouringroofs,layopenbeforethem,withmassesofshadeunderthetreesandlevelsurfacesofsunlightuponthelawns.Atriplerowofoldorangetreessurroundedthewhole.Barefooted,browngardeners,insnowywhiteshirtsandwidecalzoneras,dottedthegrounds,squattingoverflowerbeds,passingbetweenthetrees,draggingslenderIndia-rubbertubesacrossthegravelofthepaths;andthefinejetsofwatercrossedeachotheringracefulcurves,sparklinginthesunshinewithaslightpatteringnoiseuponthebushes,andaneffectofshowereddiamondsuponthegrass.

           DonaEmilia,holdingupthetrainofacleardress,walkedbythesideofDr.Monygham,inalongishblackcoatandsevereblackbowonanimmaculateshirtfront.Underashadyclumpoftrees,wherestoodscatteredlittletablesandwickereasy-chairs,Mrs.Gouldsatdowninalowandampleseat.

           “Don’tgoyet,”shesaidtoDr.Monygham,whowasunabletotearhimselfawayfromthespot.Hischinnestlingwithinthepointsofhiscollar,hedevouredherstealthilywithhiseyes,which,luckily,wereroundandhardlikecloudedmarbles,andincapableofdisclosinghissentiments.

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