Meanwhile the happy pair—and they truly were extremely happy—heard nothing of the chatter, and were indifferent to either praise or blame. They were all in all to one another, and lived in a kind of Paradise, on the south coast of Devonshire. On one of his sketching tours Lambert had discovered a picturesque old-world village, tucked away in a fold of the moorlands, and hither he brought his wife for the golden hours of the honeymoon. They lived at the small inn and were attended to by a gigantic landlady, who made them very comfortable. Mrs. "Anak," as Noel called her, took the young couple for poor but artistic people, since Agnes had dropped her title, as unsuited to her now humble position.
"And in the Colonies," she explained to her husband, during a moorland ramble, "it would be absurd for me to be called 'my lady.' Mrs. Noel Lambert is good enough for me."
"Quite so, dear, if we ever do go to the Colonies."
"We must, Noel, as we have so little to live on."
"Oh, one thousand a year isn't so bad," he answered good-humoredly. "It may seem poverty to you, who have been used to millions, my darling; but all my life I have been hard up, and I am thankful for twenty pounds a week."
"You speak as though I had been wealthy all my life, Noel. But remember that I was as hard up as you before I married Hubert, poor soul."
"Then, dear, you must appreciate the fact that we can never starve. Besides I hope to make a name as a painter."
"In the Colonies?"
"Why not? Art is to be found there as in England. Change of scene does not destroy any talent one may possess. But I am not so sure, darling, if it is wise to leave England—at least until we learn who murdered Pine."
"Oh, my dear, do let us leave that vexed question alone. The truth will never become known."