XXXVIII
Humours pursued us during our brief sojourn in the hotel. We are very fond of that hotel. It is associated with the repeated charm of its hospitable reception on each of our visits. We were glad to see we were given the same set of rooms as on a previous occasion; and when we found the same broken lock on the door, we felt indeed that we were among old friends.
When our tea was brought—we were lying down to rest—we had however to ring and protest.
“Look at this spoon!” we exclaimed dramatically.
The soft-voiced maid looked at it quizzically.
“What is it?” Then she smiled. “It’s apt to have been in the honey, by the look of it,” she observed dispassionately.
“Please take it away,” we said, “and bring another.”
She thought us strange and dull of wit. There was a clean napkin on every plate. But—no doubt with a mental “Ah, God help us. Travellers is queer folk!”—she departed, we feel sure, no farther than the passage, there to wipe the honey off on the inside of her apron.
A GARDEN IN MEATH