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when—her mind jumped back—she had bought a half-crown puppy in Praed Street. Every one of these essays had led to trouble, especially the puppy, which Mr. Porritt made her give to the milkman. Trouble, in fact, seemed to be her lot; but if more trouble awaited her in Devonshire, at least it would be a new sort.
    As a result of these meditations Cluny got into bed in a much more cheerful frame of mind. She wasn’t resigned, for she was never that, but she felt a certain expectancy. At least something was happening to her, and all her life that was the one thing Cluny Brown consistently desired. Not to be ignored by fate, even at the price of a bludgeoning; not to be mewed up, even from the storm; not peace, in short, but plenty.

Chapter 4
    I
    In the garden room at Friars Carmel, on the previous Saturday, Lady Carmel was trying to do the flowers. Like a good many Englishwomen of her age and station, she found in this task her one æsthetic outlet, and required no other. Her flower-pieces in the Dutch style were deservedly famous.
    â€œPlease, dear!” she murmured. “Your ash, on the prunus!”
    The person addressed was her son Andrew, recently down from Cambridge, more recently returned from a continental tour, who now sat on the end of the flower table impatiently smoking. He threw down his cigarette and ground it out, with his heel.
    â€œMother, will you please listen to me? Because what I’m telling you is fairly important.”
    â€œI am listening. You’ve invited a friend for a long stay, and I’m sure that will be very nice.”
    â€œHe’s not a friend. He’s an extraordinarily distinguished Polish man of letters.”
    â€œThat makes it all the nicer, dear. We’ll have the Vicar to dine. He nearly went to Poland only two years ago. I’m not being stupid,” added Lady Carmel hastily, “for though he didn’t go in the end he read a lot about it first, in guide-books. Tell me your friend’s name again, dear.”
    â€œAdam Belinski.” Andrew fetched a deep breath. “He has just come from Germany. He escaped with his life. We don’t want the Vicar to dine, in fact we want as few people as possible to know he’s here.”
    Lady Carmel smiled indulgently. Dear Andrew, she thought, what a boy he still was with his plots and mysteries! And in other ways so grown up, always worrying about politics and the Government! “Dear Andrew!” she said aloud.
    Andrew slipped off the table and began to walk rapidly up and down.
    â€œI can’t make you realize it, can I?” he said bitterly.
    â€œRealize what, darling?”
    â€œWhat Europe’s like. What everything’s like outside this—this God’s pocket.” He stared through the open door at the smoothly dropping lawn, at the wooded boundary, the protective hills rising beyond. “We’re sitting on the edge of a landslide, and I’ve seen some of the cracks.”
    Lady Carmel looked troubled. It was the thing to do, just then, at any mention of Europe, and indeed there had been moments, with Andrew still abroad, when she felt very troubled indeed. But now the expression was purely automatic, like looking reverent in church. Picking up a bough of rhododendron she tried its effect in a white crackle jar, and at once her brow cleared.
    â€œFor God’s sake, ” said Andrew loudly, “leave those things alone!”
    Shocked into full attention, Lady Carmel let the branch drop and turning to her son was shocked again by his bitter face. The rebuke died on her lips, she laid her hand gently on his sleeve to make him stand still.
    â€œWhat is it, my darling?”
    â€œBut I’ve been telling you!”
    â€œAbout your friend? Poor man, if he’s had trouble that’s all the more reason we should be nice to him. Surely, dear, you can, trust us for that.”
    Looking down into her pale, very clear blue eyes, Andrew