“God!” Hirst exclaimed, staring straight ahead.  “Don’t you think it’s amazingly beautiful?”

“Beautiful?” Helen enquired.  It seemed a strange little word, and Hirst and herself both so small that she forgot to answer him.

Hewet felt that he must speak.

“That’s where the Elizabethans got their style,” he mused, staring into the profusion of leaves and blossoms and prodigious fruits.

“Shakespeare?  I hate Shakespeare!” Mrs. Flushing exclaimed; and Wilfrid returned admiringly, “I believe you’re the only person who dares to say that, Alice.”  But Mrs. Flushing went on painting.  She did not appear to attach much value to her husband’s compliment, and painted steadily, sometimes muttering a half-audible word or groan.

The morning was now very hot.

“Look at Hirst!” Mr. Flushing whispered.  His sheet of paper had slipped on to the deck, his head lay back, and he drew a long snoring breath.

Terence picked up the sheet of paper and spread it out before Rachel.  It was a continuation of the poem on God which he had begun in the chapel, and it was so indecent that Rachel did not understand half of it although she saw that it was indecent.  Hewet began to fill in words where Hirst had left spaces, but he soon ceased; his pencil rolled on deck.  Gradually they approached nearer and nearer to the bank on the right-hand side, so that the light which covered them became definitely green, falling through a shade of green leaves, and Mrs. Flushing set aside her sketch and stared ahead of her in silence.  Hirst woke up; they were then called to luncheon, and while they ate it, the steamer came to a standstill a little way out from the bank.  The boat which was towed behind them was brought to the side, and the ladies were helped into it.

For protection against boredom, Helen put a book of memoirs beneath her arm, and Mrs. Flushing her paint-box, and, thus equipped, they allowed themselves to be set on shore on the verge of the forest.

They had not strolled more than a few hundred yards along the track which ran parallel with the river before Helen professed to find it was unbearably hot.  The river breeze had ceased, and a hot steamy atmosphere, thick with scents, came from the forest.

“I shall sit down here,” she announced, pointing to the trunk of a tree which had fallen long ago and was now laced across and across by creepers and thong-like brambles.  She seated herself, opened her parasol, and looked at the river which was barred by the stems of trees.  She turned her back to the trees which disappeared in black shadow behind her.

“I quite agree,” said Mrs. Flushing, and proceeded to undo her paint-box.  Her husband strolled about to select an interesting point of view for her.  Hirst cleared a space on the ground by Helen’s side, and seated himself with great deliberation, as if he did not mean to move until he had talked to her for a long time.  Terence and Rachel were left standing by themselves without occupation.  Terence saw that the time had come as it was fated to come, but although he realised this he was completely calm and master of himself.  He chose to stand for a few moments talking to Helen, and persuading her to leave her seat.  Rachel joined him too in advising her to come with them.