AsIwalkbackalongtheriverterracetothehotelwherethebotanistawaitsme, andobservetheUtopiansIencounter, , ofasteadyelaborationofdetail, , that, likeasoap-bubble, , , finebuildingstoweroneitherhand; , isnot, asIfondlyimagine, thelasttriumphofrealisation, , istoreturntotheearth.
Ifindthebotanistsittingatatableinthehotelcourtyard.
"Well?" Isay, standingbeforehim.
"I'vebeeninthegardensontheriverterrace," heanswers, "hopingImightseeheragain."
"Nothingbettertodo?"
"Nothingintheworld."
"You''llhaveconversation."
"Idon'twantit," hereplies, compactly.
Ishrugmyshoulders, andheadds, "Atleastwithhim."
Iletmyselfdownintoaseatbesidehim.
ForatimeIsitrestfullyenjoyinghiscompanionablesilence, ; , veryreal, Icanbelieveinit, untilthemetalchair-backgivestomyshoulderblades, -satisfaction; ; themerepleasureofcompleteness, ofholdingandcontrollingallthethreadspossessesme.
"Youwillpersistinbelieving," Isay, withanaggressiveexpositorynote, ", ." Irepeatwithconfidentrudeness, "; youcanhardlytellevennowhowdifferentare——"
Idiscoverheisnotlisteningtome.
"Whatisthematter?" Iaskabruptly.
Hemakesnoanswer, buthisexpressionstartlesme.
"Whatisthematter?" andthenIfollowhiseyes.
Awomanandamanarecomingthroughthegreatarchway——, withfrankblueeyes, thatlookwithasortoftenderreceptivityintohercompanion', greyishfiguresinthecoolshadow, againstthesunlitgreeneryofthegardensbeyond.
"ItisMary," thebotanistwhisperswithwhitelips, , .
IrealisehowlittleIunderstandhisemotions.
