"But he comes round, I suppose."
"If he doesn't have too much to eat,—which disagrees with him,—he does. He's always better down at Glenbogie because he's out of doors a good deal, and then he can digest things."
"Then take him down to Glenbogie and let him digest it at once."
"Of course we can't go till the 12th. Perhaps we shall start on the 10th, because the 11th is Sunday. What will you do, Frank?" There had been a whisper of Frank's going to the Tyrol in August, there to join the Mudbury Docimers, who were his far-away cousins. Imogene Docimer was a young lady of marvellous beauty,—not possessed indeed of £120,000,—of whom Gertrude had heard, and was already anxious that her Frank should not go to the Tyrol this year. She was already aware that her Frank had—just an artist's eye for feminine beauty in its various shapes, and thought that in the present condition of things he would be better at Glenbogie than in the Tyrol.
"I am thinking of wandering away somewhere;—perhaps to the Tyrol. The Mudbury Docimers are there. He's a pal of mine, besides being a cousin. Mrs. Docimer is a very nice woman."
"And her sister?"
"A lovely creature. Such a turn of the neck! I've promised to make a study of her back head."
"Come down to Glenbogie," said Gertrude, sternly.
"How can I do that when your governor won't let me enter his house-door even in London?"
"But you're here."