"It's an awful bore, Gerty having to go away," said Reggie, without any obvious discontent, "but it's only for a month, you know. I'm going to join her at Lucerne, if you don't want me. I hope there's something to do there. She said there were some mountains about. I shall climb."
Mrs. Davenport was conscious of a slight chill.
"Well, there'll be Gerty there," she said.
"Oh, yes; of course," said Reggie. "I shouldn't think of going if she wasn't there. You said I might smoke, didn't you?"
"I'm very happy about you and Gerty," said Mrs. Davenport, after a pause. "I should have chosen her of all others for a daughter-in-law."
"Oh! but I chose her first," said Reggie. "That's more important, isn't it? I wrote her a line this evening. I wish I didn't hate writing letters so. I can never think of anything to say. What do you say in letters, mother, you always write such good ones?"
"But you don't find it difficult to talk, Reggie. Why should you find it difficult to write?"
"Oh! but I do find it difficult to talk," said he. "It's dreadfully puzzling. I never talk to Gerty."
"Are you always quite silent, then?"
"No; but I don't talk. At least, I suppose I do talk, in a way. I babble, you know. She does most of the talking."