CONFIDENCE
take all I could give them. I didn't see much of their institutions, after all; I went in for seeing the people. Some of the people were charming—upon my soul, I was surprised at some of the people. I daresay you know some of the people I saw; they were as nice people as you would see anywhere. There were always a lot of people about Mrs. Wright, you know; they told me they were all the best people. You know she is always late for everything. She always comes in after every one is there—looking so devilish pretty, pulling on her gloves. She wears the longest gloves I ever saw in my life. Upon my word, if they don't come, I think I will ring the bell and ask the waiter what's the matter. Wouldn't you ring the bell? It's a great mistake, their trying to carry out their ideas of lunching. That's Wright's character, you know; he's always trying to carry out some idea. When I am abroad I go in for the foreign breakfast myself. You may depend upon it, they had better give up trying to do this sort of thing at this hour."
Captain Lovelock was more disposed to conversation than Bernard had known him before. His discourse, of old, had been languid and fragmentary, and our hero had never heard him pursue a train of ideas through so many evolutions. To Bernard's observant eye, indeed, the Captain was an altered man. His manner betrayed a certain restless desire to be agreeable, to anticipate judgement—a disposition to smile and be civil and entertain his auditor, a tendency to move about, and look out of the window and at the clock. He struck Bernard as a trifle nervous—as less solidly planted on his feet than when he lounged along the Baden gravel-walks by the side of his usual companion—a lady for whom, apparently, his admiration was still considerable. Bernard was curious to see whether he would ring
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