“Those happy days,” murmured Mrs. Carden, not without an uneasy feeling that her hair was growing thin at the parting; besides, she began to feel cold without her cap.
They drank weak tea, and Lavinia asked Launa her impressions of England.
“I think London is perfectly delightful,” she answered. “I don’t like the horses much. You use bearing reins. The river is quite perfect, and so different from ours. And yet sometimes I long for a stretch of rocky country, for more freedom. But the music and the life are so interesting. Yes, I love London.”
“Horses, river, life,” repeated Mrs. Carden.
A horse to her was a vehicle of locomotion, like an engine; it conveyed her to the station or to a party. Some deluded beings owned horses; she preferred hers hired, with no responsibility as to legs or grooms.
“You love boating and freedom,” remarked Mrs. Carden. “They are both often dangerous.”
“In this country, yes—where freedom frequently ends in trespassing,” answered Launa.
“Or worse—the loss of one’s reputation,” Lavinia said with decision.
Then she turned to George and told him anecdotes. She conversed rapidly and loudly; when she was a girl her family had told her she was arch.
When they rose to go she said: “George, my dear son will be at home in a few days. May I bring him to dine? Launa, he is your cousin.”