Lady Sunningdale made a gesture of despair.
“Haven’t you grasped the elementary fact,” she said, “that anything anybody thinks about is deeply interesting? All the events of the world—who said it—take place in the brain. Sahara, darling, I am not a mutton bone, nor are my rings good to eat. Suez, how tiresome! And I hadn’t read a page of it! Yes; what were you thinking about, Martin?”
Martin lit a cigarette from a smoked-down stump before he replied.
“I was thinking whether I was going to join the Roman Church,” he said.
Lady Sunningdale gave a deep, contented sigh.
“That’s the sort of thing I really like,” she remarked. “Poor Bear! Now, why, why, why do you want to do that? Yes, turn Sahara out, Frank; she is so restless. Suez Canal always follows her. And shut the door. Now close your eyes and think, Martin, for a minute if you like, and then tell me why?”
Frank said, under his breath, “I thought so,” and returned to his chair almost on tiptoe. Martin did not close his eyes at all, but looked at him.
“Frank knows why, I expect,” he said, “though I haven’t hinted it to him till this moment. Why is it, Frank?”
“Well, in one word, ‘Beauty,’” said he.
Lady Sunningdale was completely bewildered.