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charlie was bewildered。 but he dug the wire into his arm because he wanted it； and he laughed through the pain。
instead of a victim charlie had found himself the strangest of conspirators。
life went on for the angelfields； sans parties； sans hunt meetings； sans housemaids and sans most of the things that people of their class took for granted in those days。 they turned their backs on their neighbors； allowed their estate to be managed by the tenants； and depended on the goodwill and honesty of the missus and the gardener for those day…today transactions with the world that were necessary for survival。
george angelfield forgot about the world； and for a time the world forgot about him。 and then they remembered him。 it was to do with money。
there were other large houses in the vicinity。 other more or less aristocratic families。 among them was a man who took great care of his money。 he sought out the best advice； invested large sums where wisdom dictated and speculated small sums where the risk of loss was greater but the profit； in the case of success； high。 the large sums he lost pletely。 the small ones went up—moderately。 he found himself in a pickle。 in addition he had a lazy； spendthrift son and a goggle…eyed； thick…ankled daughter。 something had to be done。
george angelfield never saw anyone； hence he was never offered financial tips。 when his lawyer sent him remendations； he ignored them； and when his bank sent him letters； he did not write back。 as a consequence of this； the angelfield money； instead of expending itself chasing one deal after another； lounged in its bank vault and grew fat。
money talks。 word got out。
‘doesn’t george angelfield have a son？“ asked the wife of the near…bankrupt。 ”how old would he be now？ twenty…six？“
and if not the son for their sybilla； then why not the girl for roland？ thought the wife。 she must be reaching a marriageable age by now。 and the father was known to dote on her： she would not e empty…handed。
‘nice weather for a picnic；“ she said； and her husband； in the way of husbands； did not see the connection。
the invitation languished for a fortnight on the drawing room windowsill； and it might have remained there until the sun bleached the color out of the ink； had it not been for isabelle。 one afternoon； at a loss for something to do； she came down the stairs； puffed out her cheeks in boredom； picked the letter up and opened it。
‘what’s that？“ said charlie。
‘invitation；“ she said。 ”to a picnic。“
a picnic？ charlie’s mind turned it over。 it seemed strange。 but he shrugged and forgot it。
isabelle stood up and went to the door。 “where are you going？”
‘to my room。“
charlie made to follow her； but she stopped him。 “leave me alone；” he said。 “i’m not in the mood。”
he plained； took a handful of her hair and ran his fingers over he nape of her neck； finding the bruises he had made last time。 but she twisted away from him； ran upstairs and locked the door。
an hour later； hearing her e down the stairs； he went to the doorway。 “e to the library with me；” he asked her。
‘no。“
‘then e to the deer park。“
“no。”
he noticed that she had changed her clothes。 “what do you look like that for？” he said。 “you look stupid。”
she was wearing a summer dress that had belonged to their mother； made of a flimsy white material and trimmed with green。 instead of her usual tennis shoes with their frayed laces； she had put on a pair of green satin sandals a size too big—also their mother’s—and had attached a flower in her hair with a b。 she had lipstick on。 his heart darkened。 “where are you going？” he asked。
‘to the picnic。“
he grabbed her by the arm； dug his fingers in and pulled her toward the library。
‘no！“
he pulled her harder。
she hissed at him； “charlie； i said no！”
he let her go。 when she said no like that； he knew it meant no。 he had found that out in the past。 she could be in a bad temper for days。
she turned her back on him and opened the front door。
full of anger； charlie looked for something to hit。 but he had already broken everything that was breakable。 the things that were left would do more harm to his knuckles than he could do to them。 his fists slackened； he followed isabelle out of the door and to the picnic。
the young people at the lakeside made a pretty picture from a distance； in their summer frocks and white shirts。 the glasses they held were filled with a liquid that sparkled in the sunlight； and the grass at their feet looked soft enough to go barefoot。 in reality； the picnickers were sweltering beneath their clothes； the champagne was warm； and if anyone had thought to take their shoes off they would have had to walk through goose droppings。 still； they were willing to feign jollity； in the hope that their pretense would encourage the real thing。
a young man at the edge of the crowd caught sight of movement up near the house。 a girl in a strange outfit acpanied by a lump of a man。 there was something about her。
he failed to respond to his panion’s joke； the panion looked to see what had caught his attention and fell silent in turn。 a group of young women； eternally alert to the doings of young men even when the young men are behind their backs； turned to see what had caused the sudden silence。 and there followed a sort of ripple effect； whereby the entire party turned to face the newers； and seeing them； were struck dumb。
across the wide lawn walked isabelle。
she neared the group。 it parted for her as the sea parted for moses； and she walked straight through it to the lake edge。 she stood on a flat rock that jutted out over the water。 someone came toward her with a glass and a bottle； but she waved them away。 the sun was bright； it had been a long walk and it would take more than champagne to cool her down。
she took off her shoes； hung them in a tree and； arms outstretched； let herself fall into the water。
the crowd gasped； and when she rose to the surface； water streaming from her form in ways that recalled the birth of venus； they gasped again。
this plunge into the water was another thing people remembered years later； after sh