“The garden with the faun,” replied Barnabas. And then he got up to move a table for Sally, who had come in with the tea-things, blue willow china on a tray covered with the daintiest of damask cloths. She brought in more dishes with cakes and bread and butter, and a copper kettle which was singing its heart out on a little spirit lamp. Then she left the room.
Miss Mason warmed the teapot and the tea-cups, measured the tea, and filled the teapot with boiling water. Then she took up the sugar-tongs.
“Sugar?” she asked.
“One lump each,” said Barnabas.
She put the little cubes into the cups, poured in milk and tea, and handed the cups to the men.
“Help yourselves,” she said. Then she looked up and smiled.
“Am quite delighted to see you,” she said, “but you’ll have to do the talking. Don’t suppose I’ve spoken more than six words a day for the last twenty years, till the last three weeks. Then it has been entirely about furniture. I’ve got out of the way of conversation.”
“Barnabas will supply the need,” said Dan. “He has the biggest flow of conversation I’ve ever met. Only it’s largely nonsense.”
“Should like nonsense,” said Miss Mason. “Never talked nonsense in my life.”
“No?” queried Barnabas politely, his eyes twinkling.