"My poor sweet Peachie," the kind-hearted Eliza murmured, under her breath.
"But at meals, perhaps, a lighter vein is more suitable, Mr. Smyth," Mrs. Porcher continued. "At table the thought of death does seem rather disheartening, does it not? But about our poor old cedar tree now, Mr. Farge? You were not seriously proposing to have it removed?"
"Well, strictly between ourselves, I am really half afraid I actually was."
"You forget it sheltered my childhood. It is associated with all my past."
"Can a rosebud have a past?" Farge cried, coming up to the surface again with a bounce, so to speak.
Mrs. Porcher smiled, shook her head in graceful reproof, and turned once more to Dominic.
"I think we should all like to know how you feel about it, Mr. Iglesias," she said. "Do you wish the poor old tree removed?"
"On the contrary, I should greatly regret it's being cut down," he answered. "It would be a loss to me personally, for I have always taken a pleasure both in the sound and the sight of it. But that is a minor consideration."
"You must allow me to differ from that opinion," Mrs. Porcher remarked, with gentle emphasis. "We can never forget, can we, Eliza, who is our oldest guest? Mr. Iglesias' opinion must ever carry weight in all which concerns Cedar Lodge."
Here Farge and Worthington made round eyes at one another, while de Courcy Smyth shuffled his feet under the table. He had received a disquieting impression.