“I beg your pardon,” said Trix quickly. She lapsed into silence. Suddenly she looked up, an elfin smile of pure mischief dancing in her eyes. “And now I know you’re not dead,” she remarked. “Exactly,” said Nicholas. “You know I’m not dead.”
“Well?” demanded Trix.
“Well, of course you can go and publish the news to the world,” he remarked smoothly.
“And equally of course,” retorted Trix, “I shall do nothing of the kind. Quite possibly you mayn’t trust me, because—because I did sneeze. But honestly I didn’t have time to think properly then, at least, only time to think how to get out of the difficulty, and not time to think about fairness or anything. I truly don’t tell lies generally. And to tell about you would be like telling what was in a private letter if you’d read it by accident, so of course I shan’t say a word.”
Nicholas held out his hand without speaking. Trix got up from her chair, and put her own warm hand into his cold one.
“All right,” he said in an oddly gentle voice. “And you can speak to Doctor Hilary about it if you like. You’ll no doubt need a safety valve.” He looked again at her, still holding her hand. “Haven’t I seen you before?” he asked.
Trix nodded. “When I was a tiny child. My name is Trix Devereux. I used to come here with my father.”
“What!” exclaimed Nicholas, “Jack Devereux’s daughter! How is the old fellow?”
“He died five years ago,” said Trix softly.
Nicholas dropped her hand.