The sound of his stick tapping across the bricks roused Mrs. Ansell from her musings, but she showed her sense of his presence simply by returning to the bench she had just left; and accepting this mute invitation, Mr. Langhope crossed the terrace and seated himself at her side.
When he had done so they continued to look at each other without speaking, after the manner of old friends possessed of occult means of communication; and as the result of this inward colloquy Mr. Langhope at length said: “Well, what do you make of it?”
“What do you?” she rejoined, turning full upon him a face so released from its usual defences and disguises that it looked at once older and more simple than the countenance she presented to the world.
Mr. Langhope waved a deprecating hand. “I want your fresher impressions.”
“That’s what I just now said to Miss Brent.”
“You’ve been talking to Miss Brent?”
“Only a flying word—she had to go and look after the new arrivals.”
Mr. Langhope’s attention deepened. “Well, what did you say to her?”
“Wouldn’t you rather hear what she said to me?”
He smiled. “A good cross-examiner always gets the answers he wants. Let me hear your side, and I shall know hers.”
[ 213 ]
