Isabel was still so young that she felt the beauty more deeply when she could link it with some poetic association, and as she listened to the nightingale she murmured to herself “’In some melodious plot of beechen green with shadows numberless’—­but it isn’t a beech, it’s a fir-tree,” and then wandering off into another literary channel, “’How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves!  Eternal passion—­eternal pain’ . . . but I don’t believe he feels any pain at all.  It is we who feel pain.  He’s not been long married, and it’s lovely weather, and there’s plenty for them to eat, and they’re in love . . . what a heavenly night it is!  I wish some one were in love with me.  I wonder if any one ever will be.

“How thrilling it would be to refuse him!  Of course I couldn’t possibly accept him—­not the first:  it would be too slow, because then one couldn’t have any more.  One would be like Laura.  Poor Laura!  Now if she were in that tree”—­Isabel’s ideas were becoming slightly confused—­“it would be natural for her to be melancholy—­only if she were a bird she wouldn’t care, she would fly off with some one else and leave Major Clowes, and all the other birds would come and peck him to death.  They manage these things better in bird land.”  Isabel’s eyes shut but she hurriedly opened them again.  “I’m not going to go to sleep.  It’s perfectly absurd.  It can’t be much after nine o’clock.  I dare say Captain Hyde will come out before so very long . . .  I should like to talk to him again by myself.  He isn’t so interesting when other people are there.  I wonder why I told Laura he was getting fat?  He isn’t:  he couldn’t be, to travel all over the world and shoot black panthers.  And if he did take two helps of vol-au-vent, you must remember, Isabel, he’s a big man—­well over six feet—­and requires good support.  He certainly is not greedy or he would have tried to pick out the oysters:  all men love oysters.

“He was nice about Val’s ribbon, too . . . wish I understood about that ribbon.  Val was grateful:  he said ‘Thanks, Hyde’ while Major Clowes was speaking to Barry.  Laura isn’t stupid, but she never understands Val.  ‘Contented?’ My dearest darling Val!  If he were being roasted over a slow fire he would be ‘contented’ if Laura was looking on.  That’s the worst of being perfectly unselfish:  people never realize that you’re unselfish at all.  Wives don’t seem to hear what their husbands say.  Often and often Major Clowes is absolutely insulting to Val, before Laura and before me.  But Laura always looks on Val as a boy.  Perhaps if Captain Hyde hears it going on he’ll interfere and shut Major Clowes up as he did tonight.  He can manage Major Clowes . . . which is clever of him!  ’A strong, silent man’—­as a matter of fact he talks a good deal. . . .  But I loved him for sitting on Major Clowes.  I’d rather he were nice to Val than to me.

“But he might be nice to me too. . . .