It's a good while since I was on the river,
but it's not the sort of thing one forgets, and I'm supposed to have
rather a good memory.'
'I'm sure you have--a wonderful memory--still, where I'm sitting is not
the stern.'
There was a somewhat sulky silence. They admired the scenery of the
river. Madame Frabelle said she loved the distant glimpses of the grey
old palace of the Tudors, and asked him if he could imagine what it was
like when it was gay all day with the clanking of steel and prancing
horses and things.
'How I love Hampton Court!' she said. 'It looks so quiet and peaceful. I
think I should like to live there. Think of the evenings in that
wonderful old place, with its panelled walls, and the echo of feet that
are no longer there, down the cold, stone corridors--'
Bruce gave a slight laugh.
'Echo of feet that are no longer there? But how could that be? Dear me,
how poetical you are, Madame Frabelle!'
'I mean the imaginary echo.'
'Imaginary--ah, yes. You're very imaginative, aren't you, Madame
Frabelle? Well, I don't know whether it's imagination or not, but, do
you know, I fancy that queer feeling of mine seems to be coming
on again.
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