CHAPTER XII
“I am very thirsty, Eva.” Lady Carey had just come in from her drive, after having much enjoyed, as well as admired, the new system of be-your-own-policeman. She was not lacking in the power of observation, and could very well appreciate the rational side of London’s new mode of life; although she would sooner have perished than owned to anyone her thoughts on the subject.
“Let me pour you a cup of tea, mother,” replied Eva, as she went to the tea table. “I forgot to tell you that Gwen had returned to town. I saw her this morning at the dining-halls and she struck me as being more beautiful than ever.”
“Gwen used to be a very smart girl,” sneeringly remarked Lady Carey, as she took the cup handed to her.
“I mean that her expression is more ethereal than ever, mother. She gives one the impression that a radiant vision has been revealed to her.”
“My dear girl—she looked—on Lionel! and he is no mean creature.” Lady Carey gave vent to her suppressed mirth. “When did they return from their—what d’ye call it—moral spring cleaning?”
“Mother, how can you be so irreverent? Do you not think it very sensible of them to run away from the crowd, and hide their bliss in the wilderness?”
“No, I call it decidedly vulgar.”
“But when you married, did you not send all your social duties to Jericho? You must have longed for solitude with the man you loved.”
“Not at all, my dear; there was plenty of time for all that when we went to Italy after the wedding. Besides, we did not mention these things in my time; one did what everyone else did, it was neither painful nor exhilarating, it was the custom, and one thought no more of it. But there is something clownish in running away anyhow, and Heaven knows where, as these two have done.”