conjured mere leaves into discs of pure green light. Clouds of pollen
brightened to dust of gold. In the near haze midges flickered; and,
black against the brightness, swallows wheeled and dipped, uttering thin
cries in the ecstasy of their evening flight.

On the two punts in the backwater a great peace descended after the
hilarity of their feast. Clouds of cigarette smoke kept midges at bay.
In the deepening stillness small sounds asserted themselves--piping of
gnats, the trill of happy birds, snatches of disembodied laughter and
talk from other parties in other punts, somewhere out of sight....

Only Arúna did not smoke; and Emily Barnard, her fanatic devotee,
retired with her to the bank, where they made a lazy pretence of
"washing up." But Arúna's eyes _would_ stray toward the recumbent figure
of Roy, when she fancied Emmie was not looking. And Emmie--who could see
very well without looking--wished him at the bottom of the river.

Propped on an elbow, he lay among Arúna's cushions, his senses stirred
by the faint carnation scent she used, enlarging on his latest
enthusiasm--Rabindranath Tagore, the first of India's poet-saints to
challenge the ethics of the withdrawn life. When the mood was on, the
veil of reserve swept aside, he could pour out his ardours, his
protests, his theories, in an eloquent rush of words. And
Arúna--absently wiping spoons and forks--listened entranced. He seemed
to be addressing no one in particular; but as often as not his gaze
rested on Broome, as though he were indirectly conveying to him thoughts
he felt shy of airing when they were alone.

A pause in the flow of his talk left a space of silence into which the
encompassing peace and radiance stole like an inflowing tide. None loved