570
PARTISAN REVIEW
directed by a painter, emphasized animated faces turned towards
each other, or opening in a flash of teeth to call remarks along the
curve of the bar counter. It was as if some key or root definition,
something primal, had only to be made and everyone here would at
once agree, but these words had not been said, and never would be ,
for there was no need for them. In this scene was something secretive
and intimate and deeply shared, something reckless and even
dangerous, and Henry's face, and Sebastian's, were far from their
usual humorous deprecation. As for Angela, who stood between
Sebastian and Henry, she was no longer full of the woes revealed
during the walk here, and her charming little face smiled often and
easily at a large number of people who evidently were fond of her.
No wonder this couple - a couple still- had no intention of ever re–
linquishing their hold on this corner of Englishness, and Jody was
seeing that Sebastian was determined to be part of it too. Why,
thoughtJody, this is where Henry lives, where he really lives, it's not
his house in London! His "people" come from somewhere near here ,
but I hadn't taken that in ... He'll end up here. And I? She stood
near Sebastian, between him and a large and ravaged blonde who
ran riding stables: he was negotiating riding lessons for his daughter
Marion. The talk went on, in a flow of its own, into news about the
local hunt club and the trouble they were having with the dogs . . .
did Henry approve of hunting? She had never thought of asking
. . . there was the recent indisposition of the pub owner's pointer
bitch Mabel, and the lease of fishing rights in a nearby river to some
person from Japan - the amount of money being paid obviously
gave everyone the maximum of satisfaction. Then the talk turned to
the probable marriage of a recently widowed farmer's wife with the
Belgian owner of a neighboring farm: this earned no one's approval.
It wouldn't last, it seemed everyone agreed, though the company
showed a generous understanding of the sensual aspects of the affair.
She was a fine armful, all right, claimed the fellow behind the coun–
ter (not mine host, the owner of the pointer bitch, but his brother-in–
law). She was definitely good news, said this lean humorous char–
acter ("Foxy"), who wore a checked waistcoat that had caused him to
be generally teased, a tribute he had accepted with the knowing
smile and sharp rolling eye of one who knows a good thing when he
sees it. No wonder this Gervais what's-his-name wanted her, he'd
need his head examined if he didn't . .. but at this a certain laugh–
ter broke out around the pub: evidently he of the bright waistcoat
had not been averse to this armful. He acknowledged the laughter
