"What are the wickedest flowers you know?" asked Austin.

"Well, Sir, I should say them as had most thorns," said Lubin
feelingly.

"I wonder," mused Austin. Then he relapsed into his meditations. "How
thick with life the air is. I'm sure it's populated, if we only had
eyes to see. I feel it throbbing all round me--full of beings as much
alive as I am, only invisible. People used to see them once upon a
time--why can't we now? Naiads, and dryads, and fauns, and the great
god Pan everywhere; oh, to think we may be actually surrounded by
these wonders of beauty, and yet unable to talk to any of them!
Nothing but wicked old women, and horrible young men in plaid
knickerbockers and bowler hats, who worry one about odds and
handicaps. It's all very sad and ugly."

"Aren't you rather hot, standing there in the sun, Sir, all this
time?" said Lubin, looking up.

"Very hot," replied Austin. "I wonder what time it is?"

Lubin glanced up at the sundial. "Just five minutes past the hour, or
thereabouts, I make it."

"Oh, Lubin, let's go and bathe!" cried Austin suddenly. "You must be
far hotter than I am. There's plenty of time--we don't lunch till
half-past one. How long would it take us to get to the bathing-pool
just at the bend of the river?"