“Dreadful warm,” said Frank Digby, in exactly the same tone.
“And there is not a breath of wind on the horrid downs,” continued the sapient youth, perfectly unconscious of Frank's mimicry.
“What will the fair Louisa do?” cried Frank: “O that a zephyr would have pity on that delicate form!”
Across their path lay a wagon, from which the horses had been detached, and which now offered a tempting though homely shelter to those among the pedestrians who might choose to sit on the shady side, or to avail themselves of the accommodation afforded by the awning over the interior. Ferrers threw himself full length inside the cart: and Louis, drawing Alfred to the shady side, seated himself by him on the grass. His example was followed by Churchill, who exclaimed rapturously as he did so, “How nice! This puts me in mind of a Latin sentence; I forget the Latin, but I remember the English—‘Oh, 'tis pleasant to sit in the shade!’ ”
“Of a wagon,” said Frank, laughing. “Remarkably romantic! It is so sweet to hear the birds chirp, and the distant hum of human voices—but language fails! As for Lady Louisa, she is in the Elysium of ecstasy. It's so romantic.”
“Are you going to Bristol, Frank, for I'm off?” said Hamilton.
“Coming,” replied Frank. “We'll leave these romantic mortals to their sequestered glen. There ain't nothing like imagination, my good sirs.”
As he joined his companions, Trevannion remarked to Hamilton, “Little Mortimer is so much the gentleman, you never know him do or say any thing vulgar or awkward. It is a pity one can't depend upon him.”
“I am not quite sure that you cannot,” replied Hamilton.
“How!” said Trevannion, in astonishment.