It was one Sunday afternoon in early March, an unexpected spring-like day, and he and Frieda were taking a motor ride together. They had only one small car on the estate, having sent the large one to be turned into an ambulance.
After their midday dinner Frank had found himself in need of diversion, Olive and Jack having explained that they were going to see a friend who was ill. And as a matter of fact Frieda diverted Frank from serious affairs more than any other grown up person he knew and consequently he fell in readily with her suggestion for the ride. He had not the faintest idea that she was not in a friendly mood toward him, for Frieda had wisely concealed the fact, although in reality she was thoroughly enraged.
It seemed to her that Frank's treatment of Jack was almost unpardonable. It is true that she, perhaps, had rather an exaggerated opinion of her sister's virtues, but then Jack had been a kind of mother to her always. Although they quarreled a little now and then, as most sisters do, it was beyond Frieda's comprehension that anyone could believe Jack would wilfully do wrong, or be forced to suffer the consequences. Moreover, what Frieda still thought of as her own "misfortune" made her particularly "touchy" at present.
However, she and Frank started off cheerfully, Frank admiring an especially pretty bright blue motor coat and small close fitting blue silk hat, which Frieda had purchased in New York a few days before sailing. Nevertheless Frieda had already planned to have a talk with Frank before their return and only awaited the proper opportunity.
She was quiet at first, allowing her brother-in-law to tell her stories about the country and his neighbors, stories in which she was really not much interested. But Frieda smiled and answered, "yes and no," at the proper times, and this was what Frank really wished. Most men would rather talk intimately to women than to other men and Frank had missed his long hours of conversation with Jack more than he appreciated.
Yet Frieda's inattention finally forced itself upon his notice, so that her brother-in-law turned and smiled at her.
"What are you thinking about, Frieda? Certainly not of what I just said to you."
Frieda turned her large blue eyes with their heavy golden lashes half veiling them toward her companion.
"Still I was thinking of you, Frank," she answered, smiling, "and that is the attention men like best, isn't it?"
Lord Kent laughed. "Perhaps as a matter of vanity, yes, Frieda? But of course a good deal depends upon what one is thinking. What were you thinking of me?"