Arbuthnot pleasantly, "you make the most of
it."
Lady Caroline then stared at Mrs. Arbuthnot. "Oh yes," she said.
"I make the most of it. I've been doing that ever since I can
remember."
"Because," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, smiling and raising a warning
forefinger, "it won't last."
Then Lady Caroline began to be afraid these two were originals.
If so, she would be bored. Nothing bored her so much as people who
insisted on being original, who came and buttonholed her and kept her
waiting while they were being original. And the one who admired her--
it would be tiresome if she dogged her about in order to look at her.
What she wanted of this holiday was complete escape from all she had
had before, she wanted the rest of complete contrast. Being admired,
being dogged, wasn't contrast, it was repetition; and as for originals,
to find herself shut up with two on the top of a precipitous hill in a
medieval castle built for the express purpose of preventing easy goings
out and in, would not, she was afraid, be especially restful. Perhaps
she had better be a little less encouraging. They had seemed such
timid creatures, even the dark one--she couldn't remember their
names--that day at the club, that she had felt it quite safe to be very
friendly. Here they had come out of their shells; already; indeed, at
once.
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