'Oh, to think of King Charles II's beauties living there—those lovely, languid ladies—how charming they were!' exclaimed Madame Frabelle.
'They wore very low dresses,' said Bruce, who felt rather sleepy and stupid, and as if he didn't quite know what he was saying.
Madame Frabelle modestly looked away from the pictures.
'How exquisite the garden is.'
He agreed, and they went out and sat, somewhat awkwardly, on an uncomfortable stone seat.
There was a delicious half-hour of real summer sun—'One of those April days that seem a forecast of June,' as Madame Frabelle said.
'How much better it is to be here in the beautiful fresh air than squeezed into a stuffy theatre,' remarked Bruce, who was really feeling a shade jealous of Edith for seeing the revue that he had wished to see.
'Yes, indeed. There's nothing like England, I think,' she said rather irrelevantly.
'How exactly our tastes agree.'
'Do they?'