"I do not know what that is," she said.
"Only a couple of French words."
"I do not know French," said Lois simply.
He had not seen before what beautiful eyes they were; soft and grave, and true with the clearness of the blue ether. He thought he would like another such look into their transparent depths. So he asked,
"But what is it about the wine?"
"O, we are water-drinkers up about my home," Lois answered, looking, however, at her chocolate cup from which she was refreshing herself.
"That is what the English call us as a nation, I am sure most inappropriately. Some of us know good wine when we see it; and most of the rest have an intimate acquain'tance with wine or some thing else that is not good. Perhaps Miss Lothrop has formed her opinion, and practice, upon knowledge of this latter kind?"
Lois did not say; she thought her opinions, or practice, could have very little interest for this fine gentleman.
"Lois is unfashionable enough to form her own opinions," Mrs. Wishart remarked.
"But not inconsistent enough to build them on nothing, I hope?"