Again for a time they walked in silence. But the alertness of Mrs. Massington's face went bail for the fact that she was not silent because she had nothing to say. Then it is to be supposed that she followed out the train of her thought to her own satisfaction.
'How lovely the shadows are!' she remarked; 'shadows are so much more attractive than lights.'
'Searchlights?' asked he.
'No; shadows and searchlights belong to the same plane. I hope it is tea-time; I am so hungry.'
This was irrelevant enough; irrelevance, therefore, was no longer a social crime.
'And I should like to see my double,' said Charlie.
The only drawback to the charming situation of the house was that a curve of a branch railway-line to Winchester passed not far from the garden. Trains were infrequent on it on weekdays, even more infrequent on Sundays. But at this moment the thump of an approaching train was heard, climbing up the incline of the line.
'Brut-al-it-é, brut-al-it-é, brut-al-it-é,' said the labouring engine.
She turned to him.
'Even here,' she said—'even here is an elbow, a sharp elbow. "Utility, utility!" Did you not hear the engine say that?'