He looked up quickly, but her eyes seemed full of unconsciousness and innocence.
“You did go to the theatre last night, didn’t you?” she asked. “They told me so.”
“Yes, I went,” he replied.
“And it was ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
She made a little grimace.
“Fancy ‘Romeo and Juliet’ at a country theatre, Mr. Churchill!—the Romeo striding about, all gasps and sighs, the Juliet fat, fair and forty! Poor Lord Neville!” and her silvery laugh rang softly through the room.
Lord Neville knew it would be the better, wiser course to smile and shrug his shoulders, but he could not.
“It was quite the reverse,” he said, and his voice sounded short and almost grim. “The play was well cast, and admirably staged. The Romeo didn’t gasp or strut, and the Juliet——” he stopped, feeling that his voice had grown more enthusiastic, and was betraying his. “Oh! she played very well,” he said.
“Indeed! Really!” exclaimed Lady Grace. “Oughtn’t we to patronize the local talent, marquis?”