David looked a trifle bewildered.
“Do you truly believe—” he began.
She looked at him, half-laughing, half-serious.
“Honestly I don’t know,” she said. “I’m living in the depths of Ireland, and all that kind of thing is infectious. Sometimes I laugh at myself for giving it a moment’s thought, and the next I’m saying, there must be something in it. As for Patrick, you’d as easily shake his belief in me as his belief in the Good People. After all, who knows? He says he does. But then children may have the key to a door of which we know nothing, or, at the best, but fancy we have caught a glimpse.”
There was a little silence, broken only by the sound of running water.
“And now,” said Elizabeth, “I must unpack. I was too lazy last night. My evening frock will be crushed out of all recognition.”
David pricked up his ears.
“I didn’t know people wore evening dress in the country,” said he.
Elizabeth laughed.
“John—my brother, Mr. Mortimer—does,” she replied. “I believe he’d sooner go without his dinner than omit dressing for it.”