"Umph!" Miss Falconer drew out of her bag the especial knitting which she reserved for the Sabbath, and her fingers flew with expressive spirit. "It's scandalous," she said at length. "Girls gadding about the face of the earth—picking up chaperons when they remember them."
"It's their way, you know."
"Oh, yes, it's their way. And their men seem to like it. Mr. Hill didn't seem to consider it even unusual.... But as I said, he's hardly a judge," Miss Falconer went on unsparingly. "The man's bewitched. He never takes his eyes off her."
"I'm sure I don't blame him." Lady Claire's tone was most successfully admiring. "She's too wonderful, isn't she, with those great blue eyes and that astonishing hair! I'm sure Robert is bewitched, too!"
"Nonsense!" But Miss Falconer's tone was too vigorous, betraying the effort to rout a palpable enemy. "What nonsense!" she repeated. "He's civil—naturally—when you haven't a moment for him. The boy has pride. Too much." The knitting needles clicked warningly.
"Civil!" The girl's low laughter was mocking. "Dear Miss Falconer, you are such an euphuist!"
Miss Falconer looked up, a trifle startled. Her young charge was more than a match for her in irony, but the elder lady did not lack for solid perseverance, and she charged on undeterred.
"Of course the girl's pretty—too pretty. And Robert's a man—he has eyes in his head and likes to please them. And she knows who he is and draws him on."
"I don't think Miss Beecher cares a twopence who Robert is," said Lady Claire honestly. "When I told her he was going to stand for Roxham she answered that she had a very poor opinion of M.P.s—from reading Mrs. Ward. I can't quite see what she meant—but as for her drawing him on, a moment ago, dear, you were accusing her of luring Mr. Hill back from Cairo."
"I said he followed. I daresay she lured, too. The second string——"