Isabel shrugged her shoulders. "I think it rather lies in the fact that in drinking the draught of life we soon get through the white froth on the top and come to the small beer underneath."
"Well, I like Sunday evenings and hymns and things in that line," persisted Lord Bobby. "I even go to the length of liking Christmas Day."
"A man who can like Christmas Day will drink sweet champagne and enjoy it," remarked Madderley.
Lord Bobby shook his head. "Oh! I won't go that far."
"Now I, on the contrary," said Isabel, "cannot bear Christmas Day; it is neither one thing nor another."
"Yes, it is," argued Lord Bobby. "It is both; it is a delicious compound of Sunday morning and Saturday afternoon."
"Just so," replied Isabel, "it wears a silk blouse with a serge skirt, and so is neither Sunday nor week-day. Now, sweet champagne I do like; and if people give their guests dry champagne, I think sugar and cream ought to be handed round with it, as they are with tea. But Christmas Day is another thing. To the young it brings unqualified bliss, I admit; but to the mature it brings passive depression followed by active indigestion."
"But you used to be awfully keen on goodness and all that sort of thing," objected Lord Robert. "I never met such a girl for ideals as you were at one time."
"My dear Bobby, I was once awfully keen on dolls and blind man's buff. As I told you, I am growing old."
Lord Robert looked puzzled and disappointed. "But you still believe in good people, don't you, Miss Carnaby?"