"Oh, Miss Durrant," he said, taking the basket of grapes; but she walked
past him towards the door of the greenhouse.

"You're too good--too good," she thought, thinking of Jacob, thinking
that he must not say that he loved her. No, no, no.

The children were whirling past the door, throwing things high into the
air.

"Little demons!" she cried. "What have they got?" she asked Jacob.

"Onions, I think," said Jacob. He looked at them without moving.

"Next August, remember, Jacob," said Mrs. Durrant, shaking hands with
him on the terrace where the fuchsia hung, like a scarlet ear-ring,
behind her head. Mr. Wortley came out of the window in yellow slippers,
trailing the Times and holding out his hand very cordially.

"Good-bye," said Jacob. "Good-bye," he repeated. "Good-bye," he said
once more. Charlotte Wilding flung up her bedroom window and cried out:
"Good-bye, Mr. Jacob!"

"Mr. Flanders!" cried Mr. Clutterbuck, trying to extricate himself from
his beehive chair. "Jacob Flanders!"

"Too late, Joseph," said Mrs. Durrant.

"Not to sit for me," said Miss Eliot, planting her tripod upon the lawn.