“Could you come here just a moment?”
Hilary excused himself to Mr. Brown and hurried along the corridor to the kitchen, which was in some confusion. Dark smoke wreathed about the ceiling: the table was still set with some preparations for a meal: there were several broken plates, dishes, sprigs of herbs and limes upon the floor, but the negroes were gone. The place stank of burnt oil; great greasy smuts floated on the air.
“They’ve gone again,” Margaret said. “They have been beyond all bounds. Oh, Hilary, I have had a marvellous time with them. At first they kept going into paroxysms of prayer and giggles, and dropping things on the floor. Then they started behaving like raging lunatics; they upset the oil on to the fire. They almost had the house on fire, but I have managed to beat it out. They danced while I was doing this, so I told them to go out to see their appearance again, which they have done.”
“Are you burnt?”
“No.”
“I wish I had known that you were having this trouble.”
“I’m very glad you didn’t. What does this Mr. Brown want?”
“To drive us into Las Palomas. We had better go. He has a carriage waiting at the gate.”
“What do you make of him?”
“He’s a minister in the Light-Arising Church.”