"Then I should have invented them," retorted the intrepid Annabel. And I felt sure that she would. She was quite capable of it.
"And I really don't see how Arthur will be able to manage them," she went on without a pause; "he isn't at all cut out for that sort of thing."
I resisted a temptation to ask why Arthur wasn't cut out for the proper management of Protestants, and replied: "He feels that himself; but he couldn't very well refuse when Wildacre asked him, and seemed so set on it, you see."
"Francis Wildacre was very attractive when he used to come and stay here more than twenty years ago," said Annabel. "He had 'such a way with him,' as Ponty used to say." (Ponty was our old nurse.)
"And such a way with you, too, in those days," I hastened to add. "I used to think you were a little in love with him."
Annabel owned the soft impeachment without a blush: in spite of the fairness of her complexion, she was not of the blushing order. "I believe I was, in a young and foolish sort of way."
"That is the only sort of way in which anybody can be in love. Love that isn't young and foolish in its essence, is not love at all."
"Oh, Reggie, what nonsense! The sensible mutual attachment of older people is far more lasting."
"It may be lasting, but it isn't love. The charm of love is its divine folly."
"What a ridiculous idea! Supposing my divine folly, as you call it, had led me into marrying Francis Wildacre, where should I have been now, I should like to know? A widow with two tiresome young people to look after."