The word shot out at him and pinned him. She was waiting for an answer.
Campion was not without charm himself. His smile was disarming.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re a rationalist. I might not have guessed that, though. This is the tea, is it? Where do you get the nettles?’
‘Hyde Park.’ She spoke casually over her shoulder. ‘There are lots of weeds—I mean herbs—there, if one hunts for them. I made a mistake or two at first. You have to be exact, you know, with plants, and I was quite ill several times, but I’ve mastered it now, I think.’
The man on the upturned pail looked dubiously at the grey beverage which steamed in the small jam-pot she had handed him.
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ve been drinking that all the summer. Taste it, and if you can’t bear it I shall understand. But yo
