“You look, my dear Frogmore, as if you were running away.”
“Something like it, I don’t deny. I—I thought she would have kissed me,” he said, with a burst of feeling. It might have seemed comical to some people, but it was not at all comical to Lord Frogmore.
The dowager Lady Frogmore stopped fanning herself. “She kissed me,” she said, in sepulchral tones; “actually got up upon her toes, and, before I knew what she was about, kissed me. I never was so taken by surprise in my life. If there is any kissing to be done it is the family, certainly, that should begin.”
“That is quite my opinion,” said Frogmore; “but I suppose she means it for the best.”
Lady Frogmore shook her head. She shook it so long and so persistently that the flowers upon her bonnet began to shed little bits of feather and tinsel. “Frogmore,” she said, solemnly, “mark my words. She will lead John a life!”
“Let’s hope not,” said his brother.
“Oh! don’t tell me. Men never understand. She will lead him a life.”
“At all events it is his own doing,” said Frogmore.
“I don’t believe it is his own doing. He could not give me a rational account of it when I asked him. I believe she’s a scheming minx, and this Lady Sillinger’s a designing woman.”
“What good will it do her? She’s got daughters of her own.”