“Your efforts in that direction have been extraordinarily successful. Pray, do not imagine that they are unappreciated. I admit freely that you seem to have quite exhausted the unusual, my Lord.”
“No; I’ve still got something up my sleeve,” said David, lightly enough. But the tone in which she had uttered those final two words caught his attention. They carried a suggestion of emphasis which fell outside the bounds of genial banter. Meditating upon it he stole a covert glance at her, and encountered two wide-awake black eyes intently scrutinising him in turn. “It was about that I wished to consult you,” he added, conscious of an embarrassed tongue.
“Won’t it be better to stick to scenery?” she asked. Yes, there was undoubtedly a mocking touch in her voice. “That is so safe a subject. This dear old hotel here, now, how perfectly satisfying it is! Those wonderful trees out in front, and the white chalk hill behind, and this garden, and then the comfort and charm of everything inside, and the thought that people have been coming here for hundreds of years, or is it thousands?--it is so different from anything we have in America--even in Kentucky. And then the whole drive from London--through such delicious country, all so rich and smooth and neatly packed together, and so full of the notion that people are all the while planting and pruning and admiring every inch of it that you can’t help feeling affectionately toward it yourself! Perhaps there _is_ a certain hint of the artificial about it, but somehow that seems rather in keeping with the day than otherwise, doesn’t it, my Lord?”
While he hesitated about an answer, she touched him on the arm. “Here are papa and Mr. Linkhaw coming along after us--probably to tell us luncheon is ready. Shan’t we wait for them?”
“Heavens, no!” cried David, starting forward. “We’ve been chained to them on the top of the coach for two whole hours,” he went on, in defensive explanation of his warmth. “Really, we have earned the right to a few quiet words by ourselves.”
“Oh, _I_ don’t mind,” said Adele, quickening her pace to suit his. “Only it’s fair to warn you, though, that my temper has its limitations. I am a variable person. Sometimes it happens that all at once I weary of a joke, after it has been carried to a certain length, and then I can be as unpleasant as they make ’em.”