This discovery seemed to afford him food for reflection. For a long time he sat very quietly in his chair, apparently arguing out with himself some knotty point.
Nor had his thoughts, at the moment, any connection with the recent discussion of Garth Trent's affairs. It was only after the Lavender Lady had returned, a little pink about the eyelids, that the recollection of the original object of Mrs. Maynard's visit recurred to him.
Simultaneously, his brows drew together in a sudden concentration of thought, and an inarticulate exclamation escaped him.
Miss Livinia looked up from the delicate piece of cobwebby lace she was finishing.
“What did you say, dear?” she asked absently.
“I didn't say anything,” he smiled back at her. “I was thinking rather hard, that's all, and just remembered something I had forgotten.”
The Lavender Lady looked a trifle mystified.
“I don't think I quite understand, Miles dear.”
Herrick, on his way to the door, stooped to kiss her.
“Neither do I, Lavender Lady. That's just the devil of it,” he answered cryptically.