“Truly?” John’s tone was politely interrogative. “At what distance from Malford, as the crow flies?”
“You can hear Mass in Malford, in the Chapel, in Delancey Castle.” The statement was triumphant.
“Delancey Castle!” ejaculated John. For the first time interest, genuine interest, stirred in his voice. He began, in a manner of speaking, to sit up and take notice.
“Delancey Castle,” reiterated Corin. And then suspiciously, “But why this sudden interest?”
“Merely that I have heard of the place,” said John nonchalantly.
“Who hasn’t?” Corin’s voice was faintly edged with scorn. “One of the oldest baronial castles in England; situated in a park famed for its oaks and copper beeches; Norman in origin, enlarged during the Tudor period; minstrel’s gallery, secret chambers, terraced gardens. From all accounts it breathes the very essence of romance and bygone forgotten days. Heavens above! were there indeed tongues in trees, and sermons in stones, I’ll swear there’s many a tale those old walls and the trees around them might disclose.”
“It is a matter for devout thanks,” returned John piously, “that the tongue of Nature wags, in a manner of speaking, rather in accordance with our mood of the moment than by any actual physical volition of its own. We have quite enough to do to stop our ears to the human tongues around us. But, seriously, I had no idea that Delancey Castle was situated in this sequestered spot of yours.”
“Sequestered spot of mine!” ejaculated Corin. “I lay no claim to the spot. It exists not for my benefit, save in so far, I would have you note, as certain pecuniary advantages will accrue to me for work done in its lonely regions. Nevertheless Delancey Castle is situated there, unless some good or evil genius has seen fit to remove it piecemeal since last Thursday week. I saw it on that date with my own eyes, ‘set on an eminence’—again the guide-books—‘above the small village of Malford. Glimpses of its rugged grey towers may be observed among the lordly oaks and magnificent copper beeches for which the park is justly famed.’ I refer you to page one hundred and twenty-two of Sanderson’s Guide to Country Houses for the accuracy of my quotation.” He broke off to light a fresh cigarette, then looked at John, challenging him through his gold-rimmed spectacles.
“Oh, I’ll not question the accuracy of your quotation,” retorted John. “But how about your former statement regarding the situation of the Castle? You stated it was in the village. Now I learn it is on an eminence above it.”
“Hark to the quibbler!” cried Corin.