They eyed one another.
"And where were you wandering to, in my garden?"
"I wasn't wand'rin'. I was walkin'."
"Were you? Come, then, and walk with me, will you?"
She took his hand and led him along a path. He didn't quite know if he was a prisoner. But her hand was gentle, and she seemed a quiet, sad lady. She stepped with him through wide-open window-doors. He looked uneasily round the drawing-room, then at the quiet lady.
"Where was you born?" he asked her.
"Why, you funny boy, I was born in this house."
"My mother wasn't. She was born in Australia. And my father was born in India. And I can't remember where I was born."
A servant had brought in the tea-tray. The child was sitting on a foot-stool. The lady seemed not to be listening. There was a dark cake.
"My mother said I wasn't never to ask for cake, but if somebody was to offer me some, I needn't say No fank you."