The Heat of the Day by Elizabeth Bowen

across the room. And this tall wide mirror, relict of some vanished ballroom, reflected also Roderick's father's people, sombrely milling around the buffet. Mrs. Tringsby, annoyed by the misunderstanding about Harrison--who did not look to her, she had told the lawyer, at all the type of person she would have had in her house--had placed her two real dear people side by side on a bench, at the greatest possible distance from the intruder: circulating, herself, amongst the rest of the party, she plied back from time to time to the bench with more sandwiches, and could be heard to hope that they were enjoying themselves. No sooner was Stella inside the room than Harrison came up with the cup of coffee. "Or if you'd rather," he said, "I see there's some so-called port." "This looks very nice," she said, accepting the coffee, neutrally smiling. "Or, one could always nip down and see what they've got in the bar?" "No, thank you; this really looks very nice." She attempted to move away, but he headed her off again with a plate of sandwiches. "Not much of a send-off, this," he said, "for the poor old boy. What a place to snuff out in, when everything's said and done!" "Wisteria Lodge?" "Well, I mean to say--in a nut-house! If he had even been having a bit of fun..." She frowned, bit into a sandwich, and revised, at least for the moment, her idea. So, one was once more back where one started--nowhere. She said: "Oh, you knew him, then?" "Why not?" said he, eyeing her in a moody but somehow rallying way. "What else would make one show up at _a__ show like this?" "I don't know, really." "You probably can't place me?" "I don't know that I've tried--I had not seen Cousin Francis for such a long time that I have no idea whom he might not know." "Frankly, no more had I," said Harrison promptly. "At this side of the water, that's to say. You rather cut out Ireland? I knew him there. What an old place that was of his--right off the beaten track! And what a reception one got there--quite Oriental! Yes, dear old Frankie and I had great get-togethers. You'd be surprised how often I heard your name--I _do__ rightly take it you're Mrs. Rodney?" "Yes," she said, far from pleased. She looked round the room, hoping for some way out. She resignedly added: "You come from Ireland?" "I go there." "Fishing?" "Alas, no time." She had rather thought not. She passed on to her second idea--which was also, in its own way, to strike down a root--that he must be a travelling salesman, gentleman-type. She could picture him punting up in a small car and broaching country-house steps, to assure the owner he had a fine old place here. Cousin Francis had always looked kindly on new inventions, though with a final reluctance to take advantage of them. With regard to heating, lighting and plumbing he was happy to keep Mount Morris in, almost, its original state; and his farm was run and his land worked with few aids unknown in his grandfather's day--none the less, systems, outfits, fit-ups, gadgets and all forms of mechanised labour-savers entranced him; he wrote for booklets containing further particulars of almost every device he saw advertised. He had flirted, to within danger of breach of promise, with an air-conditioning plant, a room-to-room telephone, an electric dish-washer and a fireproof roof. Any salesman would find him as easy to "interest" as he would prove impossible to pin down. He could be written off as a famous waster of time. "Yes, remarkably fine old place he had there, too," said he, with an apparent clairvoyance which made her start. "And now, I seem to remember, that's to go to your son?" Too much annoyed by his manner to be surprised at his knowledge, she said: "I believe so, yes," and glanced round the room again. She told herself, it was like her to have attached this person: from every point of view this was the last straw. She caught, and held for a moment, the solicitous eye of a Colonel Pole. Meanwhile, Harrison uttered--for the first