“It does mean nothing!” he said—“All drawing-room songs mean nothing. Mine is a drawing-room song—calculated to waken emotional impulses in the unloved spinster religiously inclined!”
“Nonsense!” I said, smiling.
“Exactly! That is what I say. It is nonsense!” Here we came up to the carriage which waited for us—“Just twenty minutes to catch the train, Geoffrey! Off we go!”
[p 242]
And off we did go,—I watching the red gabled roofs of Willowsmere Court shining in the late sunshine, till a turn in the road hid them from view.
“You like your purchase?” queried Lucio presently.
“I do. Immensely!”
“And your rival, Mavis Clare? Do you like her?”
I paused a moment, then answered frankly,
“Yes. I like her. And I will admit something more than that to you now. I like her book. It is a noble work,—worthy of the most highly-gifted man. I always liked it—and because I liked it, I slated it.”
“Rather a mysterious course of procedure!” and he smiled; “Can you not explain?”