bodies of sheep.  The intermittent sounds—­now a cough, now a horrible wheezing or throat-clearing, now a little patter of conversation—­were just, he declared, what you hear if you stand in the lion-house when the bones are being mauled.  But these comparisons did not rouse Hewet, who, after a careless glance round the room, fixed his eyes upon a thicket of native spears which were so ingeniously arranged as to run their points at you whichever way you approached them.  He was clearly oblivious of his surroundings; whereupon Hirst, perceiving that Hewet’s mind was a complete blank, fixed his attention more closely upon his fellow-creatures.  He was too far from them, however, to hear what they were saying, but it pleased him to construct little theories about them from their gestures and appearance.

Mrs. Thornbury had received a great many letters.  She was completely engrossed in them.  When she had finished a page she handed it to her husband, or gave him the sense of what she was reading in a series of short quotations linked together by a sound at the back of her throat.  “Evie writes that George has gone to Glasgow.  ’He finds Mr. Chadbourne so nice to work with, and we hope to spend Christmas together, but I should not like to move Betty and Alfred any great distance (no, quite right), though it is difficult to imagine cold weather in this heat. . . .  Eleanor and Roger drove over in the new trap. . . .  Eleanor certainly looked more like herself than I’ve seen her since the winter.  She has put Baby on three bottles now, which I’m sure is wise (I’m sure it is too), and so gets better nights. . . .  My hair still falls out.  I find it on the pillow!  But I am cheered by hearing from Tottie Hall Green. . . .  Muriel is in Torquay enjoying herself greatly at dances.  She is going to show her black put after all.’ . . .  A line from Herbert—­so busy, poor fellow!  Ah!  Margaret says, ’Poor old Mrs. Fairbank died on the eighth, quite suddenly in the conservatory, only a maid in the house, who hadn’t the presence of mind to lift her up, which they think might have saved her, but the doctor says it might have come at any moment, and one can only feel thankful that it was in the house and not in the street (I should think so!).  The pigeons have increased terribly, just as the rabbits did five years ago . . .’” While she read her husband kept nodding his head very slightly, but very steadily in sign of approval.

Near by, Miss Allan was reading her letters too.  They were not altogether pleasant, as could be seen from the slight rigidity which came over her large fine face as she finished reading them and replaced them neatly in their envelopes.  The lines of care and responsibility on her face made her resemble an elderly man rather than a woman.  The letters brought her news of the failure of last year’s fruit crop in New Zealand, which was a serious matter, for Hubert, her only brother, made his living on a fruit farm, and if it failed again, of course, he would