“A Cuyp?”
“A Circus—with straw-knots in its tail. It used to hang in Mr. Sixsmith’s study; and there it always was! Frankly,” she added, brushing a black kid glove to her face, “I used sometimes to wish it would kick.”
“If you’re remaining here any length of time, there are some portraits at the Deanery that are considered to be of interest, I believe.”
“Portraits!”
“Old ecclesiastical ones.”
“Oh, Canon?”
“Perhaps you would come quietly to dinner. At which of our inns are you?”
“I’m at the Antelope.”
“I know that my girl would have wished our house to be open to you. You were her friend. Her champion....”
“Dear Canon—don’t ... don’t: You mustn’t! She’s at peace. Nothing can fret her. Nothing shall fret her ... ever now. And, you know, as a manageress, she was liable to vast vexations.”