“Yes,” rather falteringly, “Mr. Tancred thought that a little exercise would do me good.”
“Are you fond of walking?”
“Oh yes, very, very fond.”
“You will have to wear stronger shoes than the ridiculous things you went to church in, if you mean to indulge in that pleasure here.”
“Oh, of course”—with an eager snatch at the subject of shoe-leather, in the hope of thereby averting further inquiries as to her visit. “Perhaps you will very kindly give me the address of a good boot-maker.”
The elder woman looked at her with a something of incredulity at such an excess of acquiescence, and Bonnybell made an inward note that though she must always agree with Camilla, it was a mistake to do it too suddenly. That defeated its own end, as the mechanical unanimity of the laugh of supers on the stage destroys all impression of mirth.
“I hope that my friends made a pleasant impression upon you?” Camilla would not be put off by any boots, thick or thin, from her intended aim; and her strong eyes demanded truth even more than did her lips. It was the one commodity of which poor Miss Ransome’s warehouse was almost always empty, but she was able to scrape up quite a respectable amount of it for her answer.
“I thought them all delightful—perfectly delightful! There was only one”—with a diffident hesitation—“that I was not quite sure I liked.”
“And who is that unfortunate person?”
“I—I have no doubt that I am wrong, but I did not much fancy Miss Barnacre.”