‘It is rather startling,’ said Somerset.
‘A Greek colonnade all round, you said, Paula,’ continued her less reticent companion. ‘A peristyle you called it—you saw it in a book, don’t you remember?—and then you were going to have a fountain in the middle, and statues like those in the British Museum.’
‘I did say so,’ remarked Paula, pulling the leaves from a young sycamore-tree that had sprung up between the joints of the paving.
From the spot where they sat they could see over the roofs the upper part of the great tower wherein Somerset had met with his misadventure. The tower stood boldly up in the sun, and from one of the slits in the corner something white waved in the breeze.
‘What can that be?’ said Charlotte. ‘Is it the fluff of owls, or a handkerchief?’
‘It is my handkerchief,’ Somerset answered. ‘I fixed it there with a stone to attract attention, and forgot to take it away.’
All three looked up at the handkerchief with interest. ‘Why did you want to attract attention?’ said Paula.
‘O, I fell into the turret; but I got out very easily.’
‘O Paula,’ said Charlotte, turning to her friend, ‘that must be the place where the man fell in, years ago, and was starved to death!’
‘Starved to death?’ said Paula.