“It is always full of scented darkness to me, Lady Redmond, and a darkness that may be felt; but of course I know what you mean, for the whole house is full of the perfume of Margaret’s flowers. Sometimes our friends declare that they can smell them half-way down the road, but that is nonsense. Still flowers are my sister’s hobby; she can not live without having them about her.”
“A very harmless hobby, Raby!”
“Oh, it is a pretty fancy enough,” he answered, smiling. “If you could walk, Lady Redmond, Margaret would show you our winter garden; the gallery upstairs is a perfect conservatory, and we walk up and down there on wet days, and call it our in-door garden.”
“What a nice idea, and you live together in this dear old house; how delightful!”
Raby’s smile grew perceptibly sadder.
“We were not always alone. What is it Longfellow says?
“‘There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended,
But has one vacant chair.’
But, as you say, we live together, the old bachelor and old maiden brother and sister.”
“Miss Ferrers is not an old maid,” returned Fay, indignantly, on whom Margaret’s stately presence had made a deep impression. “You ought not to speak so of your sister.”