“Haven’t you discovered, Tibby dear, that it’s Trix he comes to see?”
“Trix!” ejaculated Miss Tibbutt.
“Yes; and she is quite as unaware of the fact as you are, so don’t, for all the world, enlighten her. Leave that to him, if he means to.”
Miss Tibbutt had let her work fall, and was gazing round-eyed at Pia.
“But, my dear Pia, he’s years older than Trix.”
“Oh, not so very many,” said Pia reassuringly. “Fifteen or sixteen, perhaps. Trix is twenty-four, you know.”
“And Trix is leaving here the day after to-morrow,” said Miss Tibbutt regretfully.
“London isn’t the antipodes,” declared Pia. “She can come here again, or business may take Doctor Hilary to London. There are trains.”
“Well, well,” said Miss Tibbutt.
Trix appeared at the open drawing-room window and came out on to the terrace. She paused for a moment to pick a dead rose off a bush growing near the house. Then she saw the two under the lime tree. She came towards them.