The Baron turned his eyes towards his first-named attraction, but for a professed lover of the ocean his interest appeared slight. He only replied absently, “Ach, zo?”
A little way behind them walked Mr Bunker and the Countess. The attention of Lady Grillyer was divided between the agreeable conversation of her companion and the pleasant spectacle of a fabulous number of pfennigs a-year bending its titled head over her daughter. In the middle of one of Mr Bunker’s most amusing stories she could not forbear interrupting with a complacent “they do make a very handsome couple!”
Mr Bunker politely stopped his narrative, and looked critically from his friend’s gaily checked back to Lady Alicia’s trim figure.
“Pray go on with your story, Mr Bunker,” said the Countess, hastily, realising that she had thought a little too loudly.
“They are like,” responded Mr Bunker, replying to her first remark—“they are like a pair of gloves.”
The Countess raised her brows and looked at him sharply.
“I mean, of course, the best quality.”
“I think,” said the Countess, suspiciously, “that you spoke a little carelessly.”
“My simile was a little premature?”
“I think so,” said the Countess, decisively.