themselves by law fifty-two weekly holidays a year, and compel
themselves by custom to waste them entirely in ceremonial
observances.






III





On the way to church, the Monteiths sifted out their new
acquaintance.

"Well, what do you make of him, Frida?" Philip asked, leaning back
in his place, with a luxurious air, as soon as the carriage had
turned the corner. "Lunatic or sharper?"

Frida gave an impatient gesture with her neatly gloved hand. "For
my part," she answered without a second's hesitation, "I make him
neither: I find him simply charming."

"That's because he praised your dress," Philip replied, looking
wise. "Did ever you know anything so cool in your life? Was it
ignorance, now, or insolence?"