I had completely lost my vision of her in the boat, but somehow that declaration of his, 'no one ever did draw that woman out', partially restored the vision to me. It seemed to invest her with agreeable mystery.
'And the other sister—Mrs Colclough?' I questioned.
'I'm taking you to see her as fast as I can,' he answered. His tone implied further: 'I've just humoured one of your whims, now for the other.'
'But tell me something about her.'
'She's the best bridge-player—woman, that is—in Bursley. But she will only play every other night for fear the habit should get hold of her. There you've got her.'
'Younger than Miss Brett?'
'Younger,' said Mr Brindley. 'She isn't the same sort of person, is she?'
'She is not,' said Mr Brindley. And his tone implied: 'Thank God for it!'
Very soon afterwards, at the top of a hill, he drew me into the garden of a large house which stood back from the road.