We went into the dining-room. I took her hand which was cold, in spite of the July warmth.
“Well, my dear,” said I. “What do you think of my young savage from Asia Minor?”
Judith laughed—I am sure not naturally.
“Is that all you wanted to say to me?”
She withdrew her hand, and tidied her hair in the mirror of the overmantel.
“I think she is a most uninteresting young woman. I am disappointed. I had anticipated something original. I had looked forward to some amusement. But, really, my dear Marcus, she is bete a pleurer—weepingly stupid.”
“She certainly can weep,” said I.
“Oh, can she?” said Judith, as if the announcement threw some light on Carlotta’s character. “And when she cries, I suppose you, like a man, give in and let her have her own way?” And Judith laughed again.
“My dear Judith,” said I; “you have no idea of the wholesome discipline at Lingfield Terrace.”
Suddenly with one of her disconcerting changes of front, she turned and caught me by the coat-lappels.