“I’m glad you brought a closed carriage,” she said, with a shiver, as they started for home. “It’s raw, and the sky seems to weigh upon one’s shoulders and head. This is a day to hide in the house, close by an open fire.”
Frothingham was surprised by this fairy-princess delicateness in so robust a creature. He thought the day mild, and as for the sky, why bother about anything that far away, so long as it sent nothing down to bother one?
“You forget we are English,” said Honoria. “We call this good weather. I must confess the closed carriage was a happy accident.”
“So like you, Honoria! Isn’t it, Lord Frothingham?” Catherine gave him a sweet smile. “She never permits one to keep agreeable illusions. Now, I was loving her for being so thoughtful for me.”
As Frothingham only stared, shy and stolid, through his eyeglass, the two girls began to talk each to the other--they had not met in two years, not since Catherine and her mother visited Honoria at Longview’s place in Bucks.
“What a beautiful place it was!” said Catherine. “I often dream of it. But then, I love England. It is of such a wonderful, vivid shade of green, and everything is so cultivated, and refined, and--and--like a fairy garden. Don’t you find the contrast very great, Lord Frothingham? We are very new and wild.”
“I’ve seen only people since I’ve been here. I must say the people--at least, those I’ve met--remind me of home, except that they speak the language differently. As for the city, it’s not at all as I fancied. It’s much like Paris--more attractive than London, not so gloomy.”
“Paris!” Catherine smiled, with gently reproachful satire. “Oh, you flatter us.”
“I like it better,” insisted Frothingham. “It’s Paris with English in the streets--I hate Frenchmen.”
“No, they’re not nice to look at--the men,” admitted Catherine. “But I adore what they’ve done. What would the world be without France?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Frothingham, with his cynical, enthusiasm-discouraging drawl. “They’re hysterical beggars, always exploding for no reason. It makes me nervous. I like quiet and comfort.”
“Lord Frothingham isn’t so sensible as he pretends,” put in Honoria. “He’s really almost as sentimental and emotional as you are, Catherine.”