“I don't know,” she said thoughtfully.
“Did you enjoy yourself last year?” he asked keenly.
Mrs. Denville smiled peculiarly, then she said, “I did, and I did not.”
“It was sensible, wasn't it?” he said sarcastically. “That great hotel crammed with people. Everybody that we knew, and everybody that we didn't want to know. Every woman dressed to extravagance, and every man sulking in a stiff collar and tight fitting coat. Oh! those hotel verandas were bliss!”
His wife laughed merrily. “Harold, I think our summers lately have been too much a repetition of our winters. That is, as far as society goes. I wish we could do something different.”
“Would you like to go to Europe?” he asked.
“And be seasick? No, thank you—but perhaps you would.”
“Too far from business this year. Perhaps you would like to go yachting.”
“Harold, I am getting to hate the water. There are so many accidents.”
“What do you want to do, anyway?”