In half a dozen minutes they were landed at the foot of the flight of steps leading up to the summer pavilion.
It was so quiet in this secluded spot that, to any one totally alone, the stillness would have been oppressive. Not a breath ruffled the leaves, not a solitary bird’s twitter broke the silence.
The pavilion was situated in the central part of a great clump of trees, nestling amid its rich, encircling foliage like an indolent beauty lying among velvet cushions.
Partly oppressed by the dreamlike silence, and the sultriness of the day, the young girls ascended and seated themselves, Blanche on the first step, Lois on one of the fragile wicker chairs.
They forgot to secure their tiny bark, nor did they observe that after a while it began to drift beyond their reach.
Neither seemed inclined to break the silence that was partly soothing, partly oppressive. When two people have only recently been introduced, even if mutually desirous of extending their knowledge of one another, it is rather difficult to start an interesting train of conversation when the trivialities of the moment have been exhausted.
Blanche Dormer, however, was never very long at a loss. She was soon in the midst of a rattling talk such as she enjoyed.
“Have you ever been in this part of the world before?” she asked.
“Never.”
“You have no friends in the neighborhood?”