“Feuille morte,” Francie prompted.
“Of course, dead leaves—so strange. I remember when I was a girl, before we came to London, we had a foxhound puppy—to ‘walk’ it was called then; it had a tan top to its head and a white chest, and beautiful dark brown eyes, and it was a lady.”
“Yes, auntie,” said Francie, “but I don’t see the connection.”
“Oh!” replied Aunt Juley, rather flustered, “it was so alluring, and her eyes and hair, you know....” She was silent, as if surprised in some indelicacy. “Feuille morte,” she added suddenly; “Hester—do remember that!”....
Considerable debate took place between the two sisters whether Timothy should or should not be summoned to see Annette.
“Oh, don’t bother!” said Soames.
“But it’s no trouble, only of course Annette’s being French might upset him a little. He was so scared about Fashoda. I think perhaps we had better not run the risk, Hester. It’s nice to have her all to ourselves, isn’t it? And how are you, Soames? Have you quite got over your....”
Hester interposed hurriedly:
“What do you think of London, Annette?”
Soames, disquieted, awaited the reply. It came, sensible, composed: “Oh! I know London. I have visited before.”