"Come, Camilla," said Cortland, rising, "wouldn't you like to see the horses and dogs? It's not nearly dark yet."
"Oh, yes," she cried gladly. And then to her host, "What am I to expect, Mr. Janney, silver feed troughs and sterilized water?"
"Oh, no," said their host, "not yet. But they're worth it."
The pair made their way through the library and a small corridor which led to the south portico.
"How do you like my cousin Rita?" Bent asked when they were alone outside.
"Is she your cousin?"
"Through my mother—the Davidges. Quite wonderful, eh?"
"I don't like her. You don't mind my saying so, do you?"
"Not in the least. She's not your sort, Camilla. But then nobody ever takes Rita seriously. She doesn't want them to. She's a spoiled darling. Everybody pets her. That bored kind of cleverness is effective—but everybody knows she doesn't mean half she says."
"I'd be sorry to think she meant anything she says," severely.