“There are some Scotch cousins,” said Captain Hornby. “But my aunt never saw much of them, and I hardly know them.”
He went over to the window and looked out. The mists of a damp November morning had almost cleared away and a gentle autumnal sunshine lay on the park. Through a loophole in the parapet he could see Harefield Park, gaunt, distinguished, its long front with the pavilions and their connecting screens looking unreal, as if it were quite flat with no solid building behind it.
“Let’s get out and have a look,” said Elsa.
With a rather undignified scramble she climbed through the narrow opening and Captain Hornby followed her. Side by side they leaned their elbows on the parapet and surveyed the view. The mild sun warmed them, beating back from the wall and roof behind, no breath
