“It took as long as it took,” remarked Minerva, laying upon the table a small packet tied around its middle with a cotton string. “Cocoa is two cents more at Allen’s than it is at Boothby’s, but that’s only a postage stamp, and often and often there’s little news in a letter though it overweighs.” Minerva dearly loved sybilline utterances.
“Did you meet Mrs. Lumley and was she satisfactory?” Miss Carrington asked.
“As to satisfactory, she is a lump!” declared Minerva with scornful emphasis. “But she did speak of Mr. Kit’s being there, and I know all about it. It seems that little Anne Berkley brought him there with her. As though you didn’t know Mr. Latham! That little witch is a prime favourite of Mr. Latham’s and visits him a great deal; she’s everybody’s favourite, and she would amuse a blind man. And the child is very fond of Miss Dallas, the secretary. So Master Kit gets little Anne to take him there. And he is asked to lunch. And after lunch the party is going driving, with horses, mind you, like their own grandfathers.” Minerva was intensely scornful of this reversion. “Master Kit, the secretary, and the child, Mr. Latham, of course. And Stetson, who was going in case of being needed, is left, and Mr. Kit will be beside Mr. Latham, who likes to drive, but has to be watched and told which way, and all that. And they had a pleasant lunch party, laughing and talking. Mrs. Lumley heard little Anne’s voice a good deal, and they were laughing at her. So that’s as far as any one could tell you who wasn’t one of them. And I’m going to have my luncheon now, Miss Carrington, for chilled cream sauce, which I saw passing through, with cold potatoes, is not desirable. But cold they are, and often will be for me, I suppose, while I do for you.”
“After all, it tells me nothing, except that apparently Kit went there on his own initiative,” said Miss Carrington, rubbing her nose with manifest annoyance. “If the girl had invited him he would not have needed little Anne Berkley’s good offices. If I knew which way they had gone—it’s a good day for a drive.”
“Ah, to be sure; I asked that,” said the thorough Minerva, turning back. “I forgot to tell you. Mrs. Lumley said that little Anne went out to see her after lunch. She is very partial to the child, and Anne never forgets to visit her. She asked Anne where they were driving, and Anne laughed and said: ‛Out to the willow-ware china park.’ Now I ask you if that isn’t exactly like little Anne Berkley? She’s just so nonsensical. Mrs. Lumley says she’s no mortal idea where it can be, but that Mr. Latham and little Anne have all sorts of names for things and people, which they make great secrets. You could easily overtake them in the car, and they poking with horses, if you knew where a ‛willow-ware china park’ might be.”
Miss Carrington smiled.
“No wonder that little Anne and Mr. Latham enjoy each other if they make life as interesting as that!” she mused. “Let me think where it can be. Willow ware—a small bridge—why, of course, Minerva! It’s the park on the west side where they’ve bridged that tiny stream and put up a summer pagoda! Tell Noble to have the car around in ten minutes. I’ll not change my dress. You’ve been out and know what the weather is; get out the coat I need, and bring up that new veil; I left it in the library. Help me dress; first call Noble.”
Miss Carrington hastened upstairs and Minerva went out of the swinging door at the rear, outraged, but muttering:
“It’s as cold now as it can be; I suppose another half-hour won’t matter.”
Within fifteen minutes Miss Carrington was sitting back against the cushions of her car, seeing neither the lovely spring day nor Daniel Noble’s respectable mulberry-coloured back, so occupied was she with her plan.