“I see.” Ethan laid it on the table, his eyes still upon it. “I don’t think they’ll want it. Doubtless Miss Devereux has plenty more.”
“Yes, sir; they took a good many, sir, between them.”
“They? Oh, she had a friend with her?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Hoyt. I remember when they was taking those, sir. It was early in the summer, soon after they came. The young ladies they dressed themselves up in those queer things—sort o’ like sheets, they was, sir—” the gardener’s voice became faintly apologetic, as though he had not quite approved of such doings—“and went out on the lawn one forenoon. They got me to cut away a bit of the branches, sir, right here.” Billings indicated the upper left-hand corner of the picture. “She said she had to have more light. It wasn’t much, sir; just a few old twigs; no harm done, sir.”
“Of course not. It was—Miss Devereux asked you?”
“Yes, sir; Miss Laura they called her. A very pleasant young lady, sir.”
“Very pleasant, Billings,” assented Ethan with a sigh.
“You know her, then, sir?”
“I—hardly that; I’ve met her.”
“Yes, sir.” Billings turned toward the fire. “Shall I drop another log on, sir?”