“Well, anyhow I’d have been in before the echo stopped,” she announced.
They went informally into the dining-room, where the light of shaded wax candles on the table mingled with the departing daylight, for the curtains were still undrawn.
“I like this kind of light,” remarked Trix, as she seated herself.
Trix almost always thought aloud. It meant that conversation in her presence seldom flagged, since her brain was rarely idle; though she could be really marvellously silent when she perceived that silence was desirable.
“Do you know this garden?” she said, addressing herself to Doctor Hilary, by whom she was seated.
He assented.
“Well, isn’t it lovely? That’s what made me nearly late,—going round it again. I’ve been round five times since yesterday. It’s just heavenly after London. Roses versus petrol, you know.” She wrinkled up her nose as she spoke.
“You ought to see the gardens of Chorley Old Hall, Miss Devereux,” said Father Dormer. “Not that I mean any invidious comparison between them and this garden,” he added, with a little smile towards the Duchessa.
“Chorley Old Hall,” remarked Trix. “I used to go there when I was a tiny child. There was a man lived there, who used to terrify me out of my wits, his eyes were so black. But I liked him, when I got over my first fright. What has become of him?”
“He died a short time ago,” said the Duchessa quietly. “Oh,” said Trix regretfully. Possibly she had contemplated a renewal of the acquaintanceship.