The Duchessa got up from the table.
“Of course he didn’t. Let us go into the garden, and have coffee out there. The fresh air will blow away the cobwebs.”
Miss Tibbutt followed the Duchessa through the French window and across the wide gravel path, on to the lawn. The Duchessa led the way to a seat beneath the lime trees. The bees were droning among the hanging flowers.
“Have you any cobwebs in your mind, my dear?” asked Miss Tibbutt as they sat down.
“Why do you ask?” queried the Duchessa.
“Oh, my dear! I don’t know. You said that about cobwebs, you see. And I thought you seemed—well, just a little preoccupied at dinner.”
There was a little silence.
“Tell me,” said Miss Tibbutt.
“There’s nothing to tell,” said the Duchessa lightly. “A rather pretty soap-bubble burst and turned into an unpleasant cobweb, that’s all. So—well, I’ve just been brushing my mind clear of both the cobweb and the memory of the soap-bubble.”
“You’re certain it—the cobweb—isn’t worrying you now?” asked Miss Tibbutt.