“It was seven or eight years ago,” said Howard. “I had to go there about some Roman coins. I collect antiques, you know. Rather a dull subject for you. Your uncle had written a little pamphlet on the coins dug up at Hurst’s Castle, that old Roman Camp in Somerset.”
“Yes. He used to collect coins then. He’d a few very rare ones. Were you there in the summer? Did you see the rose-garden?”
“On a slope, somewhere at the back, rather exposed?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve a dim recollection of it. I was only there one night. You weren’t there then?”
“My brothers were alive then. I expect I was with them.”
“Is that old gate-keeper of yours alive still? An oldish woman. Rather a character?”
“Old Maggie? Oh, do you remember old Maggie? Poor old Maggie. She’s dead now. There was a shipwreck on the rocks beyond Flaxley, and she rowed out to the wreck with her idiot son. She was such a fine old woman. None of the men would go out; so she said she would go. She rowed and rowed. There’s a very strong current there, too. When she got to the wreck her boat was smashed against the side, so she had to stay there for nearly a day, I think, and she died soon afterwards from the exposure.”
“Indeed. She impressed me. A fierce old Roman.”
Perrin looked up to remark that the courage of a woman was as it were complementary to the courage of man. That women did things which men could not do; and that their courage was on the whole of a finer quality. Mrs. Prinsep, who may perhaps have thought that the compliment to her sex was designed subtly to please her, seemed to bridle.