"Mr. Weston watched the procession."
"Only coarse women would do such a thing! And Arthur Weston might have had something better to do!"
Frederica held on to herself; she even refrained from quoting Mr. Weston's comment on the parade: "No doubt there were women in the procession who liked to be conspicuous; but there were others who marched with the consecration of martyrs and patriots!" But of course it needed only a word to bring an explosion. The word was innocent enough:
"That Maitland boy," said Mrs. Holmes—"I've dropped my napkin, Flora; pick it up—why did he suddenly leave everything and go off?"
"Freddy says he's gone to dig shells," said Mrs. Payton.
"Dig what?" said Mrs. Holmes; "people mumble so nowadays, nobody can understand them! Oh, shells? Yes. Funny thing to do, but I believe it's quite the thing for rich young men to amuse themselves in some scientific way. I suppose it doesn't need brains, as business does."
"It isn't amusement," Frederica said; "it's work."
Upon which her grandmother retorted, shrewdly: "Anything you do because you want to, not because you have to, is an amusement, my dear. Like your real-estate business."
Frederica's lip hardened.
"However," Mrs. Holmes conceded, "to make his way in the world, a rich man, fortunately, doesn't need to be intelligent, any more than a pretty girl needs to be clever"—she gave her granddaughter a malicious glance; "all the same, young Maitland had better settle down and get married, and spend some of the Maitland money. (There goes my napkin again, Flora!)"