with which William evidently teased his bride. And yet Katharine’s voice was humble.
“I wonder how you find the time to know all about pictures as well as books?” she asked.
“How do I find the time? ” William answered, delighted, Mary guessed, at this little compliment. “Why, I always travel with a notebook. And I ask my way to the picture gallery the very first thing in the morning. And then I meet men, and talk to them. There’s a man in my office who knows all about the Flemish school. I was telling Miss Datchet about the Flemish school. I picked “up a lot of it from him—it’s a way men have—Gibbons, his name is. You must meet him. We'll ask him to lunch. And this not caring about art,” he explained, turning to Mary, “it’s one of Katharine’s poses, Miss Datchet. Did you know she posed? She pretends that she’s never read Shakespeare. And why should she read Shakespeare, since she is Shakespeare—Rosalind, you know,” and he gave his queer little chuckle. Somehow this compliment appeared very old-fashioned and almost, in bad taste. Mary actually felt herself blush, as if he had said “the sex” or “the ladies.” Constrained, perhaps, by nervousness, Rodney continued in the same vein.
“She knows enough—enough for all decent purposes. What do you women want with learning, when you have so much else—everything, I should say—everything. Leave us something, eh, Katharine?”
“Leave you something?” said Katharine, apparently waking from a brown study. “I was thinking we must be going———”
“Is it to-night that Lady Ferrilby dines with us? No, we mustn’t be late,” said Rodney, rising. “D’you know the Ferrilbys, Miss Datchet? They own Trantem Abbey,” he added, for her information, as she looked doubtful. “And if Katharine makes herself very charming to-night, perhaps’ll lend it to us for the honeymoon.”
