Daisy sat down on a garden-bench, and began to do a little deep-breathing, which was a relic of the days when she had studied Yoga. It was important to concentrate (otherwise the deep-breathing did no good at all), or rather to attain a complete blankness of mind and exclude from it all mundane interests which were Maya, or illusion. But this morning she found it difficult: regiments of topics grew up like mushrooms. Now she congratulated herself on having made certain that Lucia was not intending to butt into the fête, now she began to have doubts – these were disconcerting mushrooms – as to whether that was so certain, for Lucia was much brisker today than she had been since Pepino’s death, and if that continued, her reawakened interest in life would surely seek for some outlet. Then the thought of her own speech to her troops at Tilbury began to leak into her mind: would she ever get it so thoroughly by heart that she could feel sure that no attack of nervousness or movement on the part of her palfrey would put it out of her head? Above all there was that disturbing tap-tap going on from Georgie’s garden, and however much she tried to attain blankness of mind, she found herself listening for the next tap… It was no use and she got up.

‘Georgie, are you there?’ she called out.

‘Yes,’ came his voice, trembling with excitement. ‘Wait a minute. I’ve gone through nine hoops and – Oh, how tarsome, I missed quite an easy one. What is it? I rather wish you hadn’t called me just then.’

Georgie was tall, and he could look over the paling. Daisy pulled her chair up to it, and mounted on it, so that they could converse with level heads.

‘So sorry, Georgie,’ she said, ‘I didn’t know you were making such a break. Fancy! Nine! I wanted to tell you I’ve been to see Lucia.’

‘Is that all? I knew that because I saw you,’ said Georgie. ‘I was polishing my bibelots in the drawing room. And you sat in Perdita’s garden.’

‘And there’s a change,’ continued Daisy, who had kept her mouth open, in order to go on again as soon as Georgie stopped. ‘She’s better. Distinctly. More interested, and not so faint and die-away. Sarcastic about the roast sheep for instance.’

‘What? Did she talk about the fête again?’ asked Georgie. ‘That is an improvement.’

‘That was what I went to talk about. I asked her if she wouldn’t make an effort to be Drake’s wife. But she said it would be too great a strain.’

‘My dear, you didn’t ask her to be Drake’s wife?’ said Georgie incredulously. ‘You might as well have asked her to be a confused noise within. What can you have been thinking of?’