“‘Tendencies’ is a big word, dear lady; tendencies are difficult to calculate. And you shouldn’t abuse those good Rucks, who have been very kind to your daughter. They have invited her to go and stay with them in Thirty-Seventh Street.”
“Aurora has told me. It might be very serious.”
“It might be very droll,” I said.
“To me,” declared Mrs. Church, “it is simply terrible. I think we shall have to leave the Pension Beaurepas. I shall go back to Madame Chamousset.”
“On account of the Rucks?” I asked.
“Pray, why don’t they go themselves? I have given them some excellent addresses—written down the very hours of the trains. They were going to Appenzell; I thought it was arranged.”
“They talk of Chamouni now,” I said; “but they are very helpless and undecided.”
“I will give them some Chamouni addresses. Mrs. Ruck will send a chaise à porteurs; I will give her the name of a man who lets them lower than you get them at the hotels. After that they must go.”
“Well, I doubt,” I observed, “whether Mr. Ruck will ever really be seen on the Mer de Glace—in a high hat. He’s not like you; he doesn’t value his European privileges. He takes no interest. He regrets Wall Street, acutely. As his wife says, he is very restless, but he has no curiosity about Chamouni. So you must not depend too much on the effect of your addresses.”
“Is it a frequent type?” asked Mrs. Church, with an air of self-control.