“I haven’t, Tom.”
“Come here,” he said, catching her as she wriggled free. “None of your wriggles. Come and be kissed. You’re not going to dress till your nose is kissed.”
An hour later, they stood in the Governor’s house waiting for the Governor to receive them. They fidgeted about the large, cool, rather bare room; now staring through the window at the ships, now fingering the books, turning up the pictures to the light. Stukeley took a pistol from the wall, and examined the engraved silver of the butt. Olivia chatted with Perrin about the rambler roses trailing round the window.
“We must take some slips to Darien,” said Perrin. “But I don’t much like this dark red kind.”
“We have them at home,” she answered quietly. “I shall take home some slips from Darien; for everything will grow with us. I expect lots of things would transplant.”
“Yes, lots,” he answered.
“Olivia,” said Margaret, “have you seen this Rembrandt?”
“Why,” she said. “It’s the Hundred Guilder Print. It’s like meeting an old friend.”
“Yes,” said Margaret, peering. “It’s a very beautiful state, too. What’s the etching beyond you there, Edward?”
“One of Hollar’s.”