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directly to her father in what seemed an attempt to silence him or tone him down. Cecilia had again the impression that the two of them were acting, improvising from moment to moment, following some instinctive, archetypal pattern.
    The father fell silent and the daughter drew nearer to the Chapmans and spoke more quietly, glancing upward from time to time as if to take the skies as witness.
    “She is saying mainly what she said before, that the wall, which was a very good strong wall and cost them three million lire to have built only four years ago, and God is her witness to this, was loosened by the vibrations caused by the repeated passing of heavily loaded lorries.”
    “It’s a wonder to me the wall stood for so long.” Harold pondered for a moment or two. Money was what they wanted, of course—that was as clear as daylight. It might be better to spend a little money than to get on the wrong side of these people. As neighbors they might conceivably be useful. If they felt wronged they would certainly be vindictive and might find ways of doing harm. One heard horror stories now and again: pets poisoned, fences torn down, wells polluted in the night … “I suppose we will have to accept some responsibility,” he said to Cecilia. “After all, the road is narrow and the lorries must have been heavy-laden.”
    “Oh, Harold,” Cecilia said, “I am so glad you think that, because it is exactly what I think too.” She was swept by pride at his magnanimity. Harold might seem unfeeling at times but his underlying generosity would come to the fore, however much he might try to conceal it. Radiant-faced, she turned back to the Checchetti.
    “Don’t tell them what I said,” Harold said quickly. “Neveradmit liability, it’s always a great mistake. For heaven’s sake, Cecilia, think for a minute.”
    He stared at his wife in reproof. She really had no idea of the world at all. One did not give ground to people free of charge, one did not render oneself vulnerable, one did not surrender an advantage. Now, as he looked at Cecilia, it seemed to him that this essential lack of grasp of hers found a parallel in the loosely flowing style of her attire, the full-skirted, unbelted blue dress, the pale hair escaping from the confines of her tortoiseshell combs. There came unbidden to his mind a sudden thought of his new secretary, Miss Phelps, blonded and permed, tight-skirted, high-heeled. A woman who was not afraid to look like a woman.
    The Checchetti, sensing a turning point, had drawn closer together and maintained now a silence full of expectation. It was they, Cecilia thought, who had controlled the conversation from the very start, with their pattern of rage and appeasement, their calculated clamor and calculated hush. Avarice was written in the lines of their faces and a hostility that no requirement of tact or advantage could altogether mask. She looked over their heads at the hillside beyond, the strange sense of close order imposed by the rows of bare vines strung between pale concrete pillars. Rising steeply in rank upon rank, carefully terraced, they represented an enormous sum of labor; the yield in money, on such small holdings as these, could not be very great. Little wonder these people clawed for gain.
    “Whatever is done will have to be done in legal form,” she heard Harold say. “I hope they don’t imagine we are just going to hand them a lump of money. Tell them we will see our lawyer this afternoon and try to work something out.”

    Monti had no teaching until late afternoon. He had some student essays to look at but by eleven he was free for his own work. As usual he made himself coffee on a small hot plate in his room; he had avoided the common room as far as possible since Laura’s going. He was a stranger at the university, on a visiting fellowship. He had some acquaintances in the faculty but no friends, no one whose kindness he could take for granted; he shrank at the thought of having