Gower questioned the naturalness of human nature’s desire to wash; and they wrangled good-humouredly, Carinthia’s eyes dwelling on them each in turn; until Mr. Woodseer, pursuing the theme started by him to interest her, spoke of consolations derived from his labours here, in exchange for the loss of his mountains. Her face lightened.
‘You love the mountains?’
‘I am a son of the mountains.’
‘Ah, I love them! Father called me a daughter of the mountains. I was born in the mountains. I was leaving my mountains on the day, I think it yesterday, when I met this gentleman who is your son.’
‘A glorious day it was!’ Gower exclaimed.
‘It was a day of great glory for me,’ said Carinthia. ‘Your foot did not pain you for long?’
‘The length of two pipes. You were with your brother.’
‘With my brother. My brother has married a most beautiful lady. He is now travelling his happy time—my Chillon!’
There came a radiance on her under-eyelids. There was no weeping.
Struck by the contrast between the two simultaneous honeymoons, and a vision of the high-spirited mountain girl, seen in this place a young bride seeking her husband, Gower Woodseer could have performed that unphilosophical part. He had to shake himself. She seemed really a soaring bird brought down by the fowler.