“I believe all English begin in that way. It is a place to grow into—its ways, its hours, its topics are all its own.”
“I call it charming,” said Lord Culduff, who felt appealed to.
“If you stand long on the brink here,” resumed she, “like a timid bather, you 'll not have courage to plunge in. You must go at it at once, for there are scores of things will scare you, if you only let them.”
Marion stood impassive and fixed, as though she heard but did not heed what was said, while Lord Culduff smiled his approval and nodded his assent in most urbane fashion.
“What if you came and dined here to-morrow, Marion? My sister is wonderfully 'well up' in the place. I warn you as to her execrable dinner; for her cook is Italian, pur sang, and will poison you with his national dishes; but we 'll be en petit comité.”
“I think we have something for to-morrow,” said Marion, coldly, and looking to Lord Culduff.
“To-morrow—Thursday, Thursday?” said he, hesitating. “I can't remember any engagement for Thursday.”
“There is something, I'm sure,” said Marion, in the same cold tone.
“Then let it be for Friday, and you 'll meet my brother-in-law; it 's the only day he ever dines at home in the week.”
Lord Culduff bowed an assent, and Marion muttered something that possibly meant acquiescence.