“I am going to show Mr. Ravenel the village.”
A glance of comprehension was swiftly exchanged between the mother and the daughter, but not so swiftly but that Paul intercepted it.
“You can get the key at Rapley’s,” said Mrs. Vanderfelt.
The two young people came to four cross-roads, and Paul exclaimed:
“Up the hill to the right, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
They mounted the hill and Paul stopped. He pointed with his stick towards the signboard of an inn built on the high bank above the road.
“Now I know. I lived here once as a child. I always wondered why the Horse Guards had an inn here, and what sort of people they were. I used to imagine that they were half-horse, like the Centaurs, and I always hoped to see them.”
Phyllis Vanderfelt laughed.
“Isn’t that like a man? I show you a place as beautiful as any in England and the only thing which you have remembered of it from the time when you were four is the place where you could get a drink.”