"Indeed I do," said Ridgett cordially.

"And I thank you for it, sir," said Dale. "And now--" He mastered his
emotions and was calm and polite again, as became a host. "Now, what
about two or three whiffs?"

"If madam permits."

"Mav don't mind. She's smoke-dried."

All three remained sitting at the table. The two men smoked their
pipes reflectively, and spoke only at intervals, while Mavis sank into
the motionless silence of a deep reverie. The golden sunlight came no
more into the room; bright colors of oleograph pictures, hearth-rug,
and window-curtains imperceptibly faded; the whole world seemed to be
growing quiet and cool and gray. The sounds of voices and the rumble
of passing wheels rose so drowsily from the street that they did not
disturb one's sense of peace.

All at once Mavis roused herself, or rather, seemed to be roused
involuntarily by some inward sensation--perhaps an ugly and unexpected
turn that her thoughts had suddenly taken. She gave a little shiver,
looked across the table at the visitor as if surprised at his
presence, and then began to talk to him volubly.

"Do you know this part of the world? It's a pretty country--especially
the forest side. Lots of artists and photographers come here on
purpose to take the views."