'You like the thought of it. But when you get there, the reality won't please you at all. There will be the dirty floor, and the bad music,—and the little priest intoning through his nose—and the scuffling boys,—and the abominable pictures—and the tawdry altars. Much better stay at home—and help me praise the Holy Roman Church from a safe distance!'
'What a hypocrite people would think you, if they could hear you talk like that!' she said, flushing.
'Then they would think it unjustly.—I don't mean to be my own dupe, that's all.'
'The dupes are the happiest,' she said in a low voice. 'There is something between them, and—Ah! well, never mind!'—
She stood still a moment, looking across the lake, her hands resting lightly on the stone balustrade of the terrace. Manisty watched her in silence, occasionally puffing at his cigarette.
'Well, I shall be back very soon,' she said, gathering up her prayer-book and her parasol. 'Will it then be our duty to take Miss Foster for a walk?'
'Why not leave her to my aunt?'
She passed him with a little nod of farewell. Presently, through the openings of the balustrade, Manisty could watch her climbing the village street with her dress held high above her daintily shod feet, a crowd of children asking for a halfpenny following at her heels. Presently he saw her stop irresolutely, open a little velvet bag that hung from her waist and throw a shower of soldi among the children. They swooped upon it, fighting and shrieking.
Mrs. Burgoyne looked at them half smiling, half repentant, shook her head and walked on.
'Eleanor—you coward!' said Manisty, throwing himself back in his chair with a silent laugh.