"What a quaint old house this is!" he said. "We might almost suppose we were back in the sixteenth century."
"Yes," she replied dreamily. "We're out of place in these surroundings."
She was in a strange mood this evening, sad and thoughtful, yet lacking the repose which should have accompanied reverie. It was the only time that the Secretary had ever seen her nervous or distraite.
"What have you been doing all day?" he asked, hoping to lead the conversation to some more cheerful subject.
"Trying to forget myself," she replied.
"Surely it would be a pleasure to remember yourself, I should think."
"Should you? I fear not."
"Your ears must have burned this afternoon," he continued, unheeding her comment. "Pleasant things were being said about you."
"Did you say them?"
"Of course I said them, I always do; but I was referring to someone else—to Lady Isabelle."