“Miles and I have been—as usual—squabbling violently,” announced Mrs. Maynard. “Sugar, please—lots of it,” she added, as Herrick handed her her tea. “It was about the man who lives at Far End,” she continued in reply to the Lavender Lady's smiling query. “Miles has been very irritating, and tried to smash all my suggested theories to bits. He insists that the Hermit is quite a commonplace, harmless young man—”
“He must be at least forty,” interposed Herrick mildly.
Audrey frowned him into silence and continued—
“Now that's so dull, when half Monkshaven believes him to be a villain of the deepest dye, hiding from justice—or, possibly, a Bluebeard with an unhappy wife imprisoned somewhere in that weird old house of his.”
Sara listened with undignified interest. It was strange how the enigmatical personality of the owner of Far End kept cropping up across her path.
“And what is your own opinion, Mrs. Maynard?” she asked.
Audrey flashed her a keen glance from her rain-clear eyes.
“I think he's a—sphinx,” she said slowly.
“The Sphinx was a lady,” objected Herrick pertinently.
“Mr. Trent's a masculine re-incarnation of her, then,” retorted Mrs. Maynard, undefeated.