“That boy—his soul is being slowly devoured alive——”
“And so,” said Lady Aviolet, “we always send one cheese to the show every year. It encourages the dairymaid so much.”
“Splendid!” said the doctor.
“Are you interested in cheese, Lucian?” Ford Aviolet inquired politely.
“In everything,” the doctor retorted curtly.
“How delightful! A lesson to the youth of the present day, who are interested in nothing.”
“I don’t agree.”
It was Rose, of course, who hurled the contradiction, with ill-judged weightiness, into the carefully trivial key in which Ford had set his remark.
“Nor I.” The doctor, doing his best with her ineptitude, essayed a generality. “One generation is always more or less mysterious to the other.”
“You think so? Take my young nephew now——”