Claudia did not catch the oddly chosen word, and certainly would not have understood it.
“Well, here he is rather refreshing,” she allowed, “because he has been about the world, and can talk; but, after all, men always strike me as uninteresting. Don’t you think one more often meets with original women?”
“At the college, of course.”
“Oh, at the college they were delightful.”
“If,” Miss Arbuthnot said idly, “you want a definition of advancing years, I should say it was made up of modifications. I’ve had my theories too, though you mightn’t believe it, but I find the hard edges almost gone, and my opinions grown hazy. One still, however, remains—that the inevitable will be down on you. Who is the man in the distance?”
“How tiresome!” Claudia exclaimed. “It is Captain Fenwick, and we shall not be able to talk any more. Perhaps he has not seen us, and we can escape.”
“Oh, he has seen us. Bring your philosophy to bear, for, after all, you find him more endurable than the others—him or his bicycle, which is it?” As Captain Fenwick came swiftly up, and swung himself off, she added, “That is one point I particularly dislike in the thing. It is always taking you unawares. There is no time to prepare, or to call up one’s blandest expression. However, here is Miss Hamilton who has just been singing its praises—yours, I mean.”
“It’s very good,” said Claudia, eyeing it critically, “I wish I hadn’t been in a hurry for mine.”
“Yours is well enough. You can have one or two things altered. Look here—” he was beginning, when Miss Arbuthnot broke in.
“For pity’s sake, spare me a digression on wheels and pistons, or whatever they may be. You can discuss them at your ease on your way to Huntingdon.”