“How can you be so obtuse, Caroline?” said Cheriton, achieving a very respectable note of pathos. “There is a vein of poetic ideality in her that makes one think of Saint Catherine of Siena.”
“A vein of poetic fiddlestick!” said the old lady. “She has as much ideality as Ponto has. The only thing that interests either of them is their meals. In fact, I should say that Ponto has the better soul of the two. I sometimes suspect Ponto of being an esoteric Buddhist in a reincarnation.”
“Do you indeed!” said Cheriton. “Well, when Ponto presents his benefactress with a copy of ‘Amiel’s Journal’ I shall be only too happy to think you have grounds for your suspicion.”
Cheriton continued to run his fingers fondly through the pages of “Law’s Serious Call.”
“To my thinking,” said he, “it was a singularly frank yet spiritually-minded nature that conceived the idea of presenting her aunt with a work of this character.”
“The creature is as spiritually-minded as a dog ferret,” croaked the occupant of the four-poster.
“A vigorous figure,” said Cheriton, “yet not very happily applied. But I don’t wonder, Caroline, that you are a little topsy-turvy, and that your standard of things in general has gone awry.”
“Why don’t you?”
Cheriton permitted himself a highly dramatic gesture. “That man,” he said tragically.
“To whom do you refer?”