The quotation was put in by Gaston in an innocent voice.
Now Dinah’s French studies had in her youth been conducted, for five terms, in a small and remote Devonshire boarding-school. Consequently she did not understand one word of the language as pronounced by Gaston. Her heart sank as she watched an amused smile play round Linda’s mouth. Already ideas were exchanged between these two people—dear friends once—from which she must, perforce, remain shut out.
‘Doctor Tho—orne! Doctor Tho—orne!’
And with playful undulatory movements of her parasol Mrs. Linda strove to arrest her husband’s attention.
‘Linda! Bless my heart, my love, I thought you were district visiting hours ago. Quite an unexpected pleasure.’
And, hat in hand, Doctor Thorne advanced up the path, dutifully obedient to his Linda’s call, to be introduced to Linda’s friends.
He was an ultra Indian-looking, ultra curry-coloured old Company’s servant, considerably more than thirty years his wife’s senior, with a snow-white military moustache, projecting white eyebrows, mild, tired eyes, a very thick gold chain, a puggaree, and buff shoes. You could never look at Doctor Thorne without a certain surprise that he did not live in Cheltenham; so well was his appearance in tune with your recollections of the Cheltenham promenade winter garden, Montpellier lawn-tennis courts, and club windows blossoming over with generals, admirals, and old Indians.
But in Cheltenham Linda might have hunted! Quite early after their return to Europe Doctor Thorne made the discovery that he and his wife had two passions—Linda’s for horses, his own for living within his pension. This decided him on choosing an island for his residence.
‘Bless my heart, Linda! A positively unexpected pleasure,’ repeated the Doctor, with urbane little bows discreetly given to no person in particular.
‘You dear, delicious Robbie, to turn up just when you are so wanted!’ cried Linda. ‘Mrs. Arbuthnot, let me introduce my husband.’ With a careless wave of the hand that said, plainly enough, this part of the ceremony might be cut as short as possible. ‘Mr. Gaston Arbuthnot. Have I not often told you, Robbie, of my old friendship for Gast—, I mean, for Mr. Arbuthnot, in Paris? Mr. Geoffrey Arbuthnot, a medical student from Cambridge.’