This morning Hermione saw the glimmer of
the white cloth near the fig-tree. She wondered if Vere was there, and
longed to plead a headache and to have her coffee in her bedroom.
Nevertheless, she went down resolved to govern herself.
In the garden she found Giulia smiling and putting down the silver
coffee-pot in quite a bower of roses. Vere was not visible.
Hermione exchanged a good-morning with Giulia and sat down. The
servant's smiling face brought her a mingled feeling of relief and
wonder. The pungent smell of coffee, conquering the soft scent of the
many roses, pinned her mind abruptly down to the simple realities and
animal pleasures and necessities of life. She made a strong effort to
be quite normal, to think of the moment, to live for it. The morning
was fresh and lively; the warmth of the sun, the tonic vivacity of the
air from the sea, caressed and quickened her blood.
The minute garden was secluded. A world that seemed at peace, a world
of rocks and waters far from the roar of traffic, the uneasy hum of
men, lay around her.
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