Watching her face, relaxed in dreamy retrospection, Mrs. Mitchell asked:
"Where is Mr. Herriott?"
Without removing her eyes from the long wistaria plumes waving overhead, she answered in a colder tone:
"When father heard last, he was in Norway, but since then I read an account of a dinner given to the party of which he was a member, by a geographical society in London."
"You have received no letter?"
"None recently, and I do not expect any."
"Because you do not deserve any. I am so disappointed in him."
"In what respect? I imagined that in your eyes, as in father's, he was simply perfect."
"He is capable of something far better than lounging through life with his hands in his pockets, and loafing around the world. If he could only have the good luck to lose his money, he might accomplish what God makes such men for."
"He is not an idle tramp. He is kept busy dancing attendance on his exacting bride."