"Do you think we can communicate with the dead?"
"No, I don't," said Jasmine sharply. "And if we could, I shouldn't want to."
Cousin Edith opened wide her globular eyes, which, like those of an insect, were set apparently on her face rather than in it. But before she could combat the blasphemy she had been lured by Spot deep into a privet bush, so deep that the old rhyme came into Jasmine's head about the man of Thessaly who scratched out his eyes in bushes and at his own will scratched them in again in other bushes. He must have had eyes like Cousin Edith's—external and globular.
"Poor old Spot," she murmured, disengaging her lips from a cobweb as genteelly as possible. "He so enjoys his little walk. Up here now, dear," she added, seeing that Jasmine was preparing to go down to the promenade.
"But shan't we go and listen to the music?"
"We have Spot with us."
"Well?"
Cousin Edith came very close to her and whispered:
"Dogs are not allowed on the promenade."
"Then let's tie him up and leave him here," suggested Jasmine.