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Therewerealsooneortwoportraitsoffathersandgrandmothers，andanengravingofJohnStuartMill，afterthepicturebyWatts。
Itwasaroomwithoutdefinitecharacter，beingneithertypicallyandopenlyhideous，norstrenuouslyartistic，norreallycomfortable。
Rachelrousedherselffromthecontemplationofthisfamiliarpicture。
“Butthisisn’tveryinterestingforyou，“shesaid，lookingup。
“GoodLord！“Hewetexclaimed。“I’veneverbeensomuchinterestedinmylife。“ShethenrealisedthatwhileshehadbeenthinkingofRichmond，hiseyeshadneverleftherface。Theknowledgeofthisexcitedher。
“Goon，pleasegoon，“heurged。“Let’simagineit’saWednesday。
You’reallatluncheon。Yousitthere，andAuntLucythere，andAuntClarahere“；hearrangedthreepebblesonthegrassbetweenthem。
“AuntClaracarvestheneckoflamb，“Rachelcontinued。
Shefixedhergazeuponthepebbles。“There’saveryuglyyellowchinastandinfrontofme，calledadumbwaiter，onwhicharethreedishes，oneforbiscuits，oneforbutter，andoneforcheese。
There’sapotofferns。Thenthere’sBlanchethemaid，whosnufflesbecauseofhernose。Wetalk——ohyes，it’sAuntLucy’safternoonatWalworth，sowe’reratherquickoverluncheon。Shegoesoff。
Shehasapurplebag，andablacknotebook。AuntClarahaswhattheycallaG。F。S。meetinginthedrawing-roomonWednesday，soItakethedogsout。IgoupRichmondHill，alongtheterrace，intothepark。It’sthe18thofApril——thesamedayasitishere。
It’sspringinEngland。Thegroundisratherdamp。However，Icrosstheroadandgetontothegrassandwewalkalong，andIsingasIalwaysdowhenI’malone，untilwecometotheopenplacewhereyoucanseethewholeofLondonbeneathyouonaclearday。
HampsteadChurchspirethere，WestminsterCathedraloverthere，andfactorychimneysabouthere。There’sgenerallyahazeoverthelowpartsofLondon；butit’softenblueovertheparkwhenLondon’sinamist。It’stheopenplacethattheballoonscrossgoingovertoHurlingham。They’repaleyellow。Well，then，itsmellsverygood，particularlyiftheyhappentobeburningwoodinthekeeper’slodgewhichisthere。Icouldtellyounowhowtogetfromplacetoplace，andexactlywhattreesyou’dpass，andwhereyou’dcrosstheroads。
Yousee，IplayedtherewhenIwassmall。Springisgood，butit’sbestintheautumnwhenthedeerarebarking；thenitgetsdusky，andIgobackthroughthestreets，andyoucan’tseepeopleproperly；
theycomepastveryquick，youjustseetheirfacesandthenthey’regone——that’swhatIlike——andnooneknowsintheleastwhatyou’redoing——“
“Butyouhavetobebackfortea，Isuppose？“Hewetcheckedher。
“Tea？Ohyes。Fiveo’clock。ThenIsaywhatI’vedone，andmyauntssaywhatthey’vedone，andperhapssomeonecomesin:
Mrs。Hunt，let’ssuppose。She’sanoldladywithalameleg。
Shehasorsheoncehadeightchildren；soweaskafterthem。
They’reallovertheworld；soweaskwheretheyare，andsometimesthey’reill，orthey’restationedinacholeradistrict，orinsomeplacewhereitonlyrainsonceinfivemonths。Mrs。Hunt，“
shesaidwithasmile，“hadasonwhowashuggedtodeathbyabear。“
HereshestoppedandlookedatHewettoseewhetherhewasamusedbythesamethingsthatamusedher。Shewasreassured。Butshethoughtitnecessarytoapologiseagain；shehadbeentalkingtoomuch。
“Youcan’tconceivehowitinterestsme，“hesaid。
Indeed，hiscigarettehadgoneout，andhehadtolightanother。
“Whydoesitinterestyou？“sheasked。
“Partlybecauseyou’reawoman，“hereplied。Whenhesaidthis，Rachel，whohadbecomeobliviousofanything，andhadrevertedtoachildlikestateofinterestandpleasure，lostherfreedomandbecameself-conscious。Shefeltherselfatoncesingularandunderobservation，asshefeltwithSt。JohnHirst。Shewasabouttolaunchintoanargumentwhichwouldhavemadethembothfeelbitterlyagainsteachother，andtodefinesensationswhichhadnosuchimportanceaswordswerebo
