“No aspersions, if you please. My parents are thin! It shall be rheumatism, I think. That’s quite ordinary and eminently respectable. They might both have it, if it comes to that.”
But Antony objected.
“No. Not both! That’s too drastic. My uncle would certainly object that you would inherit a tendency. Only your father! A recent attack...”
“Just so; and they are anxious to take it in time. Mother goes with him, as they are a devoted couple and couldn’t endure to be parted for six weeks. Mud baths, I think. There’s such a sound of verisimilitude about mud baths! I think we must really decide on mud baths.”
“Poor beggar, yes! I’m afraid there’s no help for him. Where are they, by the way? I’ve no idea. Have you?”
“Oh, yes. They are in Germany somewhere. Or is it Italy? Somewhere about that part of the world,” Juliet said vaguely, whereupon Antony took out his pocket-book and wrote down a memorandum.
“A dutiful daughter ought to have her parents’ address! I’ll find that out before dinner. As a matter of fact, I don’t think my uncle will trouble his head about your relations. There would have been the dickens to pay if he had not approved of you, but he was quite unusually amiable, took to you at first sight, and the aunt too. It went off far better than I expected.”
“Just let me be quite clear on one point,” Juliet demanded. “Am I nice, and amiable, and meek, or am I dashing and sportive?”
“Neither one nor the other, a useful blend. Don’t worry about that. You are perfectly all right as you are.”
“And—just as a guide for moments of expansion—might it be ‘Tony’?”