ofCornwall.Theseahollywouldgrowthroughtheeye-socketsitwouldturntopowder,orsomegolfer,hittinghisballonefineday,woulddispersealittledust—No,butnotinlodgings,thoughtMrs.Flanders.It'sagreatexperimentcomingsofarwithyoungchildren.There'snomantohelpwiththeperambulator.AndJacobissuchahandfulsoobstinatealready.
"Throwitaway,dear,do,"shesaid,astheygotintotheroadbutJacobsquirmedawayfromherandthewindrising,shetookoutherbonnet-pin,lookedatthesea,andstuckitinafresh.Thewindwasrising.Thewavesshowedthatuneasiness,likesomethingalive,restive,expectingthewhip,ofwavesbeforeastorm.Thefishing-boatswereleaningtothewater'sbrim.Apaleyellowlightshotacrossthepurpleseaandshut.Thelighthousewaslit."Comealong,"saidBettyFlanders.ThesunblazedintheirfacesandgildedthegreatblackberriestremblingoutfromthehedgewhichArchertriedtostripastheypassed.
"Don'tlag,boys.You'vegotnothingtochangeinto,"saidBetty,pullingthemalong,andlookingwithuneasyemotionattheearthdisplayedsoluridly,withsuddensparksoflightfromgreenhousesingardens,withasortofyellowandblackmutability,againstthisblazingsunset,thisastonishingagitationandvitalityofcolour,whichstirredBettyFlandersandmadeherthinkofresponsibilityanddanger.ShegrippedArcher'shand.Onsheploddedupthehill.
"WhatdidIaskyoutoremember?"shesaid.
"Idon'tknow,"saidArcher.
"Well,Idon'tknoweither,"saidBetty,humorouslyandsimply,andwhoshalldenythatthisblanknessofmind,whencombinedwithprofusion,motherwit,oldwives'tales,haphazardways,momentsofastonishingdaring,humour,andsentimentality—whoshalldenythatintheserespectseverywomanisnicerthananyman?
Well,BettyFlanders,tobeginwith.
Shehadherhanduponthegardengate.
"Themeat!"sheexclaimed,strikingthelatchdown.
Shehadforgottenthemeat.
TherewasRebeccaatthewindow.
ThebarenessofMrs.Pearce'sfrontroomwasfullydisplayedatteno'clockatnightwhenapowerfuloillampstoodonthemiddleofthetable.Theharshlightfellonthegardencutstraightacrossthelawnlitupachild'sbucketandapurpleasterandreachedthehedge.Mrs.