My cousin showed us the letter with the artless confidence of a child.
Excepting herself, I don't think any one of us shared the writer's enthusiasm about Mr. Leslie Trunk. We quite agreed with Signer Vissochi. It was hard to believe that the man who had instituted such an iniquitous suit could so swiftly forgive the costly drubbing he had received, or, as heir-presumptive to the dukedom, honestly welcome the news of Piers' engagement. Sweetheart Jill, however, knew little of leopards and their spots. Out of respect for such unconsciousness, we held our peace. There was no hurry, and Piers could be tackled at our convenience….
The conversation turned to our impending departure from France.
"I take it," said Jonah, "that we go as we came. If we're going to Paris for the Grand Prix, there's not much object in stopping there now. In any event, it 'ld mean our going by train and sending the cars by sea. I'm not going to drive in Paris for anyone. I'm too old."
After a little discussion, we decided that he was right.
"Same route?" said Adèle.
"I think so," said Jonah. "Except that we miss Bordeaux and go by
Bergerac instead."
"Is that shorter or longer?" said Berry. "Not that I really care, because I wouldn't visit Bordeaux a second time for any earthly consideration. I've seen a good many poisonous places in my time, but for inducing the concentrated essence of depression, that moth-eaten spectre of bustling commerce has them, as the immortal B-B-B-Wordsworth says, beat to a b-b-b-string-bag."
"I don't seem to remember," said Daphne, "that it was so awful."
"It wasn't," said I. "But the circumstances in which he visited it were somewhat drab. Still, it's not an attractive town, and, as the other way's shorter and the road's about twice as good——"