“Is Mr. Deville a relation of yours?” I asked, rather abruptly.
She had just taken down a little Italian statuette for my inspection, and she replaced it carefully before she answered.
“No. We are friends. I have known him for a good many years.”
A tiny Burmese gong rang out from the hall. She came across the room towards me, smiling pleasantly.
“Shall we go and have some tea? I always want tea so much after a thunderstorm. I will show you some more of my Penates, if you like afterwards.”
I followed her into the hall, and took my tea from the hands of a prim little maid servant. With the Dresden cup between my fingers a sudden thought flashed into my mind. If only Lady Naselton could see me. Unconsciously my lips parted, and I laughed outright.
“Do forgive me,” I begged. “Something came into my mind. It was too funny. I could not help laughing.”
“To be able to laugh at one’s thoughts is a luxury,” she answered. “I know a man who lived through a terrible illness solely because of his sense of humor. There are so many things to laugh at in the world, if only one sees them in the right light. Let me give you some more tea.”
I set down my cup. “No more, thanks. That has been delicious. I wonder whether I might ask you a question?” I added. “I should like to if I might.”
“Well, you certainly may,” she answered, good-humoredly.