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in God； I see God； even in the things that seem to be evil。〃
Mr。 Barbecue…Smith looked up from his notebook。 〃That last one；〃
he said； 〃is particularly subtle and beautiful； don't you think？ Without
Inspiration I could never have hit on that。〃 He re…read the apophthegm
with a slower and more solemn utterance。 〃Straight from the Infinite；〃 he
commented reflectively； then addressed himself to the next aphorism。
〃The flame of a candle gives Light； but it also Burns。〃
Puzzled wrinkles appeared on Mr。 Barbecue…Smith's forehead。 〃I
don't exactly know what that means；〃 he said。 〃It's very gnomic。 One
could apply it； of course to the Higher Education illuminating； but
provoking the Lower Classes to discontent and revolution。 Yes； I
suppose that's what it is。 But it's gnomic； it's gnomic。〃 He rubbed his
chin thoughtfully。 The gong sounded again； clamorously； it seemed
imploringly： dinner was growing cold。 It roused Mr。 Barbecue…Smith
from meditation。 He turned to Denis。
〃You understand me now when I advise you to cultivate your
Inspiration。 Let your Subconscious work for you； turn on the Niagara of
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the Infinite。〃
There was the sound of feet on the stairs。 Mr。 Barbecue…Smith got up；
laid his hand for an instant on Denis's shoulder； and said：
〃No more now。 Another time。 And remember； I rely absolutely on
your discretion in this matter。 There are intimate； sacred things that one
doesn't wish to be generally known。〃
〃Of course；〃 said Denis。 〃I quite understand。〃
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CHAPTER VII。
At Crome all the beds were ancient hereditary pieces of furniture。
Huge beds； like four…masted ships； with furled sails of shining coloured
stuff。 Beds carved and inlaid； beds painted and gilded。 Beds of walnut
and oak； of rare exotic woods。 Beds of every date and fashion from the
time of Sir Ferdinando； who built the house； to the time of his namesake in
the late eighteenth century； the last of the family； but all of them grandiose；
magnificent。
The finest of all was now Anne's bed。 Sir Julius； son to Sir
Ferdinando； had had it made in Venice against his wife's first lying…in。
Early seicento Venice had expended all its extravagant art in the making of
it。 The body of the bed was like a great square sarcophagus。 Clustering
roses were carved in high relief on its wooden panels； and luscious putti
wallowed among the roses。 On the black ground…work of the panels the
carved reliefs were gilded and burnished。 The golden roses twined in
spirals up the four pillar…like posts； and cherubs； seated at the top of each
column； supported a wooden canopy fretted with the same carved flowers。
Anne was reading in bed。 Two candles stood on the little table beside
her； in their rich light her face； her bare arm and shoulder took on warm
hues and a sort of peach…like quality of surface。 Here and there in the
canopy above her carved golden petals shone brightly among profound
shadows； and the soft light； falling on the sculptured panel of the bed；
broke restlessly among the intricate roses； lingered in a broad caress on the
blown cheeks； the dimpled bellies； the tight； absurd little posteriors of the
sprawling putti。
There was a discreet tap at the door。 She looked up。 〃Come in；
come in。〃 A face； round and childish； within its sleek bell of golden hair；
peered round the opening door。 More childish… looking still； a suit of
mauve pyjamas made its entrance。
It was Mary。 〃I thought I'd just look in for a moment to say good…
night；〃 she said； and sat down on the edge of the bed。
Anne closed her book。 〃That was very sweet of you。〃
〃What are you reading？〃 She looked at the book。 〃Rather second…
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rate； isn't it？〃 The tone in which Mary pronounced the word 〃second…
rate〃 implied an almost infinite denigration。 She was accustomed in
London to associate only with first…rate people who liked first…rate things；
and she knew that there were very； very few first…rate things in the world；
and that those were mostly French。
〃Well； I'm afraid I like it；〃 said Anne。 There was nothing more to be
said。 The silence that followed was a rather uncomfortable one。 Mary
fiddled uneasily with the bottom button of her pyjama jacket。 Leaning
back on her mound of heaped…up pillows； Anne waited and wondered what
was coming。
〃I'm so awfully afraid of repressions；〃 said Mary at last； bursting
suddenly and surprisingly into speech。 She pronounced the words on the
tail…end of an expiring breath； and had to gasp for new air almost before
the phrase was finished。
〃What's there to be depressed about？〃
〃I said repressions； not depressions。〃
〃Oh； repressions； I see；〃 said Anne。 〃But repressions of what？〃
Mary had to explain。 〃The natural instincts of sex。。。〃 she began
didactically。 But Anne cut her short。
〃Yes； yes。 Perfectly。 I understand。 Repressions！ old maids and all
the rest。 But what about them？〃
〃That's just it；〃 said Mary。 〃I'm afraid of them。 It's always
dangerous to repress one's instincts。 I'm beginning to detect in myself
symptoms like the ones you read of in the books。 I constantly dream that
I'm falling down wells； and sometimes I even dream that I'm climbing up
ladders。 It's most disquieting。 The symptoms are only too clear。〃
〃Are they？〃
〃One may become a nymphomaniac of one's not careful。 You've no
idea how serious these repressions are if you don't get rid of them in time。〃
〃It sounds too awful；〃 said Anne。 〃But I don't see that I can do
anything to help you。〃
〃I thought I'd just like to talk it over with you。〃
〃Why； of course； I'm only too happy； Mary darl