“You don’t agree with me, Michael?” Lady Paton asked timidly.
“Of course I do,” he said, looking up at her, “that is the only definition needful. We may interpret differently, from different points of view.”
“You would find, I think, greater peace in mine, Michael. May you come to it in time!”
They were both silent for a moment, and both looked presently at Camelia.
“She is so much admired, and so unspoiled by it. So frank, so unaffected. She is found so clever.”
“So she tells me,” Perior could not repress.
“And so humorous,” Lady Paton added, taking his smile in its kindest sense, “she says the most amusing things.”
“Mr. Perior,” said Camelia, turning rather abruptly, “if Mamma is singing my praises I give you leave to repress her sternly.” She joined them, standing behind Lady Paton’s chair, and, over her head, looking at Perior. “I know how trying such praises are, heard outside the family circle.”
“In which I hope I may include myself. I enjoy Lady Paton’s interpretation.”
“Mamma would not believe the biting intention of that speech. Cuff! cuff! cuff! Il me fait des misères, Mamma!”