White, who had risen to greet her, proceeded with a formal, and from Anna’s point of view, a wholly unnecessary round of introductions. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. . . An Englishwoman. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Not so bad. It may be instinctive; it may be that children vaguely realize that at the end of all wedding journeys is disillusion. "It's a pump, like an organ.
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