"No, I haven't seen her either this evening, Miss Florence," I heard her
say, "but that Turpin he says he wants to see you about his shed."
"Oh, Mr. Turpin must want to see me very badly. Tell him to come to the
hall, Mrs. Madden."
I looked down into the hall whose only light was the dulled fire, and deep
in the shadow I saw them at last. They must have slipped down while we
were in the passages, and now thought themselves perfectly hidden behind
an old gilt leather screen. By child's law, my fruitless chase was as good
as an introduction, but since I had taken so much trouble I resolved to
force them to come forward later by the simple trick, which children
detest, of pretending not to notice them. They lay close, in a little
huddle, no more than shadows except when a quick flame betrayed an
outline.
"And now we'll have some tea," she said. "I believe I ought to have
offered it you at first, but one doesn't arrive at manners somehow when
one lives alone and is considered--h'm--peculiar." Then with very pretty
scorn, "would you like a lamp to see to eat by?" "The firelight's much
pleasanter, I think." We descended into that delicious gloom and Madden
brought tea.
I took my chair in the direction of the screen ready to surprise or be
surprised as the game should go, and at her permission, since a hearth is
always sacred, bent forward to play with the fire.
"Where do you get these beautiful short faggots from?" I asked idly.
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