‘There are certainly some considerations that might make me resolve on an English winter,’ said Lord St. Erme.
‘Every consideration, I should think.’
‘Fogs and frosts, and clouds, that hang like a weight on the whole frame,’ said Lord St. Erme, shivering.
‘Healthy, freshening mists, and honest vigorous frosts to brace one for service,’ said Theodora, smiling.
‘O, Miss Martindale!’ cried Lady Lucy, entering, ‘are you persuading St. Erme to stay all the year in England? I do so wish he would.’
‘Then you ought to make him,’ said Theodora.
‘If Miss Martindale were to express a wish or opinion—’
She saw it was time to cut him short. ‘Every one’s opinion must be the same,’ she said.
‘O,’ cried Lucy, ‘of course Italy is pleasanter. It is selfish to wish to keep him here; but if I had my will, we would live together at Wrangerton, and have such nice poor people.’
‘A “chateau en Espagne” indeed, my little sister. Wrangerton is a most forlorn place, an old den of the worst period of architecture, set down just beyond the pretty country, but in the programme of all the tourists as a show place; the third-rate town touching on the park, and your nice poor people not even the ordinary English peasantry, but an ill-disposed set of colliers.’