“Oh no! I'm only with my father for the baths.”
“Ah, I thought not, never havin' seen you. We've been retired here ourselves a matter of twelve months. A pretty spot.”
“Yes; lovely, isn't it?”
“We wanted nature. The air suits us, though a bit—er—too irony, as you might say. But it's a long-lived place. We were quite a time lookin' round.”
Mrs. Wagge added in her thin voice:
“Yes—we'd thought of Wimbledon, you see, but Mr. Wagge liked this better; he can get his walk, here; and it's more—select, perhaps. We have several friends. The church is very nice.”
Mr. Wagge's face assumed an uncertain expression. He said bluffly:
“I was always a chapel man; but—I don't know how it is—there's something in a place like this that makes church seem more—more suitable; my wife always had a leaning that way. I never conceal my actions.”
Gyp murmured:
“It's a question of atmosphere, isn't it?”