And she said: "Oh, Reggie, how can you! you are
too funny."
All the afternoon the crowd in its smart holiday clothes, pink
blouses, and light-coloured suits, flowery hats, and scarves beyond
description passed through and through the dark hall, the
magnificent drawing-rooms and boudoirs and picture-galleries.
The chattering crowd was awed into something like quiet by the
calm, stately bedchambers, where men had been born, and died;
where royal guests had lain in long-ago summer nights, with big
bow-pots of elder-flowers set on the hearth to ward off fever and
evil spells. The terrace, where in old days dames in ruffs had
sniffed the sweet-brier and southern-wood of the borders below,
and ladies, bright with rouge and powder and brocade, had walked
in the swing of their hooped skirts the terrace now echoed to the
sound of brown boots, and the tap-tap of high-heeled shoes at two
and eleven three, and high laughter and chattering voices that said
nothing that the children wanted to hear. These spoiled for them
the quiet of the enchanted castle, and outraged the peace of the
garden of enchantments.
"It isn't such a lark after all," Gerald admitted, as from the window
of the stone summer-house at the end of the terrace they watched
the loud colours and heard the loud laughter. "I do hate to see all
these people in our garden."
"I said that to that nice bailiff-man this morning," said Mabel,
setting herself on the stone floor, "and he said it wasn't much to let
them come once a week.
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