Her own very lack of any abnormality reached, in Lord Dunholm's mind,
the highest point of illustration of the phase of life she beautifully
represented--for beautiful he felt its rare charms were.
When they strolled out to look at the gardens he found talk with her no
less a stimulating thing. She told her story of Kedgers, and showed
the chosen spot where thickets of lilies were to bloom, with the giants
lifting white archangel trumpets above them in the centre.
"He can be trusted," she said. "I feel sure he can be trusted. He loves
them. He could not love them so much and not be able to take care of
them." And as she looked at him in frank appeal for sympathy, Lord
Dunholm felt that for the moment she looked like a tall, queenly child.
But pleased as he was, he presently gave up his place at her side to
Westholt. He must not be a selfish old fellow and monopolise her. He
hoped they would see each other often, he said charmingly. He thought
she would be sure to like Dunholm, which was really a thoroughly English
old place, marked by all the features she seemed so much attracted by.
There were some beautiful relics of the past there, and some rather
shocking ones--certain dungeons, for instance, and a gallows mount,
on which in good old times the family gallows had stood.
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