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HASLAM [_beaming_] Simply fatuous. [_Rising_] Well, I suppose I'd better
be going. It's most awfully good of you to put up with my calling.
CONRAD [_in his former low ghostly tone_] You neednt go, you know, if
you are really interested.
HASLAM [_fed up_] Well, I'm afraid I ought to--I really must get back--I
have something to do in the--
FRANKLYN [_smiling benignly and rising to proffer his hand_] Goodbye.
CONRAD [_gruffly, giving him up as a bad job_] Goodbye.
HASLAM. Goodbye. Sorry--er--
_As the rector moves to shake hands with Franklyn, feeling that he is
making a frightful mess of his departure, a vigorous sunburnt young lady
with hazel hair cut to the level of her neck, like an Italian youth in a
Gozzoli picture, comes in impetuously. She seems to have nothing on but
her short skirt, her blouse, her stockings, and a pair of Norwegian
shoes: in short, she is a Simple-Lifer._
THE SIMPLE-LIFER [_swooping on Conrad and kissing him_] Hallo, Nunk.
Youre before your time.
CONRAD. Behave yourself. Theres a visitor.
_She turns quickly and sees the rector.


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191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215