“It’s more than a refuge—it’s a tower of independence.”
He looked at her appreciatively.
“We’ll agree on many things.”
Margaret asked Freda to come down with them and she went, a little reluctantly wondering if she were not crowding their kindness. But Gregory insisted as well as Margaret.
Margaret sat beside a vase of roses on her table and Gregory and Freda faced her, sitting on the couch-bed. The roses were yellow, pink—delicate, aloof, like Margaret herself and she made a lovely picture. Gregory’s eyes rested on her a little wearily as if he had failed to find what he sought for in the picture. He was silent at first—then, deftly, Margaret drew him out little by little about the Irish Republic, and he became different, a man on fire with an idea. Fascinated, stirred, Freda watched him, broke into eager questioning here and there and was answered as eagerly. They were hot in discussion when Walter Carpenter came.
There was a moment of embarrassment as if each of the men studied the other to find out his purpose. Then Margaret spoke lightly.
“Do you want to hear about the Irish question from an expert, Walter?”
“Is Mr. Macmillan an expert?”
“He’s to lecture about it on Friday night.”
“It’s a dangerous subject for a lecture.”