“Is my wife doing any thing wrong?” asked Arnold, who had noticed the look which Sir Patrick had cast on Blanche.
“Your wife is making mischief as fast as her fingers can spread it.”
Arnold stared. “She must answer Lady Lundie’s letter,” he said.
“Unquestionably.”
“And she must tell Lady Lundie we have come back.”
“I don’t deny it.”
“Then what is the objection to her writing?”
Sir Patrick took a pinch of snuff—and pointed with his ivory cane to the bees humming busily about the flower-beds in the sunshine of the autumn morning.
“I’ll show you the objection,” he said. “Suppose Blanche told one of those inveterately intrusive insects that the honey in the flowers happens, through an unexpected accident, to have come to an end—do you think he would take the statement for granted? No. He would plunge head-foremost into the nearest flower, and investigate it for himself.”
“Well?” said Arnold.