“Here is Springer’s Key on the map. Come here, Stukeley, and just cast your eye over it.”
Stukeley advanced, and put his hand on Olivia’s shoulder, drawing her against him, as he leaned over to see the map. She stroked the caressing hand, only conscious of the pleasure of her husband’s caress. She had no thought of what the sight meant to Margaret.
Perrin felt for his friend. “Put it to the vote, Charles,” he said hastily.
“Very well then,” said Margaret. “Shall we decide then? To go to Springer’s Key?”
“Is it a pleasant place?” said Olivia. “Don’t, Tom.” She gave the hand a little slap.
“Very pleasant, Mrs. Stukeley. A island with huge big cedars on it—aromatic cedars—as red as blood; and all green parrots. Wells. Good drinking wells. Wonderful flowers. If you’re fond of flowers, ma’am.”
“What sorts are they?”
“Arnotto roses, and yellow violet trees. Oh, lots of them.”
“Oh, then, Springer’s Key, certainly.”
“Springer’s Key,” said Stukeley and Perrin.