Mabel made no answer, though Vane thought it would have relieved her to grimace, and by and by the meal came to an end. Some time afterwards, Mrs. Chisholm rose from her seat in the drawing-room.
“We keep early hours at the Dene, but you will retire when you like,” she said. “As Tom is away, I had better tell you that you will find syphons and whisky in the smoking-room. I have had the lamp lighted.”
“Thank you,” Vane replied with a smile. “I’m afraid you have taken more trouble on our account than you need have done. Except on special occasions we have generally confined ourselves to strong green tea.”
Mabel looked at him in amazement. “Oh!” she said, “the West is certainly decadent. You should be here when the otter hounds are out. Why, it was only—-”
She broke off abruptly beneath her mother’s withering glance, and when they were left alone, Vane and Carroll strolled out upon the terrace, pipe in hand.
“I suppose you could put in a few weeks here,” Vane remarked.
“I could,” Carroll replied. “There’s an—atmosphere—about these old houses that appeals to me, perhaps because we have nothing like it in Canada. Besides, I think your friends mean to make things pleasant.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
Carroll understood that his comrade would not resent a candid expression of opinion. “I do; the girls in particular. They interest me. The younger one’s of a type that’s common in our country, though it’s generally given room for free development into something useful there. Mabel’s chaffing at the curb. It remains to be seen if she’ll kick, and hurt herself in doing so, presently.”
Vane, who remembered that Evelyn had said something to the same effect, had already discovered that Carroll possessed a keen insight in certain matters.