Lady Argent, like the majority of women, was always at her most valiant on paper, and Ludovic rightly conjectured that she hoped thus to render further allusion to the Twickenham visit unnecessary. It was therefore not without some amusement, on the evening that she and Frances returned, that Ludovic listened to the conversational manœuvres by which his mother strove to forestall any inconvenient inquiries.
“And what about Twickenham, dear?” he firmly inquired.
“Oh, my dear boy, it was the most freezing day you can imagine—that very cold Sunday—and altogether so unlike what one always associated with Twickenham—Twickenham Ferry, you know, though it’s a song one never hears nowadays—such a pity, I always think. It makes one think of straw bonnets and crinolines and so many delightful things of that kind, which one never meets with now—not that I can remember crinolines myself.”
“I suppose not, dear, but I want to hear about the monastery,” said Ludovic inexorably. “What did you think of the Prior, Miss Frances?”
“I liked him very much. I never saw a monk before, and he was so much more human and cheerful than I had expected, somehow.”
“It would not be at all surprising if they were the most melancholy creatures on earth,” Lady Argent agitatedly broke in, “at least from a human point of view, because, of course, want of food and sleep are most dreadfully trying, and they never have enough of either.”
Frances sat with an awestricken expression in her eyes.
“It’s extraordinary to realize that that sort of thing actually goes on now, at the same time as one’s own ordinary everyday life,” she said slowly. “I never knew before that it—religious life, I mean—went on, in that sort of way, in England nowadays. It always seemed, somehow, so remote—belonging to medieval times.”
“Like the Inquisition, etc.,” unkindly remarked Ludovic, with a glance at his mother, whom the allusion always roused to eloquence.
“That was only a political institution, dear, as you very well know, and had nothing to do with the Church—at least the worst part of it hadn’t, and naturally autres temps autres mœurs, and, besides, it was in Spain, which I never think is quite the same as other countries, in spite of having kept the Faith in that marvellous way all these years, which I believe is the reason they have no days of abstinence there, but look at the bull-fights and things. Their ideas must be different to ours, I feel certain.”