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What did you think of the way from Hollingford?"
To this question she seemed to expect an answer, and Dyce, who was
beginning to command himself, met her gaze steadily as he spoke.
"There's very little to see till you come to Shawe. It's a pretty
village--or rather, it was, before someone built that hideous
paper-mill."
Scarcely had he uttered the words when he became aware of a change
in Lady Ogram's look. The gleam of her eyes intensified; deeper
wrinkles carved themselves on her forehead, and all at once two rows
of perfect teeth shone between the pink edges of her shrivelled
lips.
"Hideous paper-mill, eh?" she exclaimed, on a half-laughing note of
peculiar harshness, "I suppose you don't know that _I_ built it?"
A shock went through Dyce's blood. He sat with his eyes fixed on
Lady Ogram's, powerless to stir or to avert his gaze. Then the
courage of despair suddenly possessed him.
"If I had known that," he said, with much deliberation, "I should
have kept the thought to myself. But I'm afraid there's no denying
that the mill spoils the village.


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