There seemed to be only one thing missing in the whole castle, and
that was a bath--though I dare say there was one in the private
apartments not shown to me. It was a regular dive into the last
five hundred years, and the fact that it wasn't a museum nor
exploited by a sing-song cicerone, helped to make it for me a
memorable and really thrilling experience. I conjured up my
forebears and could see them playing as children, growing to
manhood, passing into old age, and finally dying in the shadow of
those same massive walls. Verna said I was quite pale when we
emerged at last into the open air on the summit of the high square
tower; and no wonder that I was, for in a kind of way I had been
deeply impressed, and it seemed a solemn thing that I, like her,
should be a child of this castle, with roots deep cast in far-off
ages.
"Wouldn't it be horrible," I said, "if I found out I wasn't a
ffrench at all--but had really sprung from a low-down, capital F
family in the next county or somewhere!"
"Oh, but you are a real ffrench," said Verna.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I can FEEL it," she said. "I never felt that kind of sensation
before towards anybody except my father!"
I hardly knew whether to be pleased or not. And besides, it didn't
seem to me conclusive.
Then she touched a button (for the castle was thoroughly wired and
there was even a miniature telephone system) and servants brought
us up afternoon tea, and a couple of chairs to sit on, and a
folding table set out with flowers, and the best toast and the
best tea and the best strawberry jam and the best chocolate cake
and the best butter that I had as yet tasted in the whole island.
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