"And to what do you attribute that neglect?—as the County Councillor asked when he was shown a house that hadn't been touched since the reign of Elizabeth," bubbled Frank.
I admit I laughed then: I couldn't help it.
"I knew you'd appreciate that," murmured he, confidentially slipping his arm into mine; "I've been saving it for days, but never remembered to get it off my chest when you were there. You see, you've got rather a strong Kingsnorth strain in you: it's a pity, but you can't help it, and when the Kingsnorth strain comes to the top, it's rather a waste of good material telling you anything really funny. You take so long being shocked, that by the time the shock has subsided the freshness of the joke has evaporated."
"I wonder if you are right," I said. I always consider it a mistake to neglect any opportunity of seeing myself through another person's eyes, and if that other person happens to be considerably my junior, I think the educational advantages of the vision are enhanced. To tell the truth—down at the bottom of my deceitful and desperately wicked heart—I had always cherished a secret belief that the Kingsnorth strain in me was very faint—that I was almost pure Winterford, and it was a considerable and not altogether pleasant surprise to discover that the strain, which I had fondly imagined non-existent, was so strong that it hit onlookers in the face!
Fortunately Annabel had not heard Frank's remark anent the Kingsnorth strain: she was busy preparing the virgin soil of Fay's mind for an inspection of the Manor, by casting abroad seeds of information respecting that ancient building.
"And how nice of Queen Elizabeth to have slept here!" I heard Fay say. "I think it was too sweet that way she had of sleeping about all over everywhere so as to leave a sort of historical train behind her, like a royal and romantic snail. It seems to give such a delicious old flavour to houses, for her even to have dozed in them. But though she was all right sleeping, I can't say that I am fond of her in her waking moments, are you?"
"I consider she was a great woman," replied Annabel, "and such a friend to the English Church."
But friendship towards the English Church was not the sort of thing to appeal to Miss Wildacre. "Still, think of her behaviour to Mary Queen of Scots," she expostulated: "I can never forgive her for that. Think of cutting off that beautiful head out of sheer jealousy! It was simply abominable!"
"Mary Stuart was a Papist," replied Annabel, as if that fact were in itself an excuse for any atrocity. And to Annabel's mind I verily believe it was.
"I don't see what that has to do with it, Miss Kingsnorth: I really don't see that people's religion matters much to anybody except themselves, provided, of course, that they're decent and don't practice Obi or devil-worship, or go in for human sacrifices, or do any quite impossible things of that kind. I think that religion is very much a matter of temperament, don't you?—and that what's good for one person is bad for another."