"They're always slow or
fast."
"Then there's the kitchen clock," Tim mentioned; "the grandfather
thing."
Uncle Felix reflected a moment. His reply was satisfactory and
conclusive:
"I'll go down to-night," he explained in a low voice, "when the
servants are in bed. I'll take the weights off."
Judy and Tim appreciated the seriousness of the occasion more than
ever.
"Into Mrs. Horton's kitchen?" they whispered.
"Into Mrs. Horton's kitchen," he agreed, beneath his breath.
Maria, meanwhile, said nothing. Her eyes kept open very wide, but no
audible remark got past her lips. She paid no attention to the singing
nor to the whispered conversation; she ate an enormous tea, finishing
up all the cakes that the others neglected in their excitement and
preoccupation; but she appeared as calm and unconcerned as the tea-
cosy that concealed the heated, stimulating teapot beneath it. She
looked more circular and globular than ever. Even the knowledge that
this was the eve of her own particular adventure did not rouse her.
Her expression seemed to say, "I never _have_ believed in Time; at the
centre where _I_ live, clocks and calendars are not recognised"; and
later, when Judy blew the candle out and asked as usual, "Are you all
right, Maria?" her reply came floating across the darkened room
without the smallest alteration in tone or accent: "I'm alright.
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