fresh element at her court, that should make Riseholme know that she
was in residence again. August would soon be here with its languors and
absence of stimulus, when it was really rather difficult in the drowsy
windless weather to keep the flag of culture flying strongly from her
own palace. The Guru had already said that he felt sure she had a
beautiful soul, and-- The outline of the scheme flashed upon her. She
would have Yoga evenings in the hot August weather, at which, as the
heat of the day abated, graceful groups should assemble among the
mottos in the garden and listen to high talk on spiritual subjects.
They would adjourn to delicious moonlit suppers in the pergola, or if
the moon was indisposed--she could not be expected to regulate the
affairs of the moon as well as of Riseholme--there would be dim seances
and sandwiches In the smoking-parlour. The humorous furniture should be
put in cupboards, and as they drifted towards the front hall again,
when the clocks struck an unexpectedly late hour, little whispered
colloquies of "How wonderful he was tonight" would be heard, and there
would be faraway looks and sighs, and the notings down of the titles of
books that conducted the pilgrim on the Way. Perhaps as they softly
assembled for departure, a little music would be suggested to round off
the evening, and she saw herself putting down the soft pedal as people
rustled into their places, for the first movement of the "Moonlight
Sonata." Then at the end there would be silence, and she would get up
with a sigh, and someone would say "Lucia mia"! and somebody else
"Heavenly Music," and perhaps the Guru would say "Beloved lady," as he
had _apparently_ said to poor Daisy Quantock. Flowers, music,
addresses from the Guru, soft partings, sense of refreshment.... With
the memory of the Welsh attorney in her mind, it seemed clearly wiser
to annex rather than to repudiate the Guru. She seized a pen and drew a
pile of postcards towards her, on the top of which was printed her name
and address.