"If you come to actual values, I'd rather do without Shakespeare than Mrs. Beeton," she remarked blandly.
"Oh, Miss Hartill!" Louise was protesting—suspecting a trap—ready to ripple into laughter. "You do say queer things."
"I?"
"Yes. As if you meant that!"
"But I do! Eating's an art, Louise, like painting or writing. I had a pheasant last Sunday——" She gave the entire menu, and enlarged on the etceteras with enthusiasm.
Louise looked bewildered.
"I never thought you thought about that sort of thing," she remarked. "I thought you just didn't notice—I thought you would always be thinking of poetry and pictures——" She subsided, blushing.
Clare laughed at her pleasantly.
"I thought, I thought, I think, I thought! What a lot of thoughts. I'm sorry, Louise! Is all my star-dust gone?"
Louise shook her head vigorously, but she was still embarrassed. She changed the subject with agility.