"I believe men really care as much about their clothes as we do about ours," continued Lady Esdaile, "only they don't talk about them as much. But that is because they are so reserved and queer. I've noticed men never talk about what they are thinking about. Isn't it funny of them? I expect it is because they are so clever, they can hide what they feel."
"The fools care about their clothes; but the clever ones are too clever to see that they are not clever enough to be independent of trifles," said Isabel, throwing the gauntlet down before Paul.
But he was too wise to pick it up just then, though he knew perfectly well that it was there.
So she rattled on: "I wonder if it would be possible for a woman to love a man well enough to condone his excellencies and to pardon his virtues. Love has accomplished some wonderful parlour-tricks, I admit; but I don't think it has ever gone so far as to throw a halo round a man with a conscience."
"Don't you?" said Paul drily, "I fancy you somewhat underrate the powers of the little blind god, and overrate the folly of your own sex."
"Don't have too much faith in my own sex," advised Isabel.
"Do not quarrel, my children," murmured Lady Farley; "the weather is too warm for anything but peace."
Lady Esdaile rose; she always left the room when any signs of a storm were brewing, and therefore had the character of being a peacemaker. "I must be going," she said, "I have so many calls to pay this afternoon. Good-bye, dear people."
Lady Farley went downstairs with her sister-in-law, and left the lovers to themselves.
There was a moment's silence, and then Paul asked: "Whatever possessed you to talk such nonsense as you have been doing this afternoon? You didn't mean a word of it."