And she was able to accord him the smile of encouragement he expected.
“I am sure you would,” she replied. “I think you might have waited until this afternoon and taken me,” she reproached him. “You know how I enjoy going with you to those places.”
It was not until later in the meal that he anticipated, in an admirably accidental manner, the casual remark she had intended to make about church.
“Your predictions were fulfilled,” she answered; “the sermon wasn't thrilling.”
He glanced at her. And instead of avoiding his eyes, she smiled into them.
“Did you see the First Citizen of Grenoble?” he inquired.
“I am sure of it,” she laughed, “if he's yellow, with a drooping eye and a presence; he was kind enough to conduct me to the pew.”
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “that's Israel Simpson—you couldn't miss him. How I used to hate him when I was a boy! I haven't quite got over it yet. I used to outdo myself to make things uncomfortable for him when he came up here—I think it was because he always seemed to be truckling. He was ridiculously servile and polite in those days. He's changed since,” added Hugh, dryly. “He must quite have forgotten by this time that the General made him.”
“Is—is he so much?” said Honora.
Her husband laughed.