As he had expected, Garrett was having tea with Clare in her own room—the Castle of Intimacy, as Randal had once called it. Garrett was reading; Clare was sitting by the fire, thinking.
"She will soon have more to think about," thought Robin wretchedly.
She looked up as he came in. "Ah, Robin, that's splendid! I was just going to send up for you. Come and sit here and talk to me. I've hardly seen you to-day."
She had been very affectionate during the last three days—rather too affectionate, Robin thought. He liked her better when she was less demonstrative.
"Where have you been all the afternoon?"
"In my room. I've been busy."
"Tea? You don't mind it strong, do you, because it's been here a good long time? Gingerbread cake especially for you."
But gingerbread cake wasn't in the least attractive. Beddoes suited him much better:—
Is that the wind dying? Oh no;
It's only two devils, that blow
Through a murderer's bones, to and fro,
In the ghost's moonshine.
"Do you know Beddoes, aunt?"