the Palazzo Farnese, where there had been an early reception.
'Done?' echoed Lady Cardiff. 'Why, you have cut our beloved Mrs. Henry V. Clams dead! Unconsciously, I daresay, but still dead. You looked at her as you did it; you did really. I must say so if they ask me.'
'I did not see her,' said Etoile. 'Not that I should be unwilling to commit the crime consciously, if you mean that.'
'Good gracious! Has she offended you?'
'Not in the least; but why should I know her? She is far less educated than my maid, and very many times more vulgar.'
'Of course; but still why?'
'With a vulgarity more blatant for the fine clothes it is dressed in; a vulgarity that is not even redeemed by mere decency.'
Lady Cardiff shifted her sunshade.
'Terribly strongly you put things; of course they sound horrible when you put them like that. But everybody knows her. It's a way we've got into nowadays. Why don't you write a comedy like l'Etrangère or the Famille Benoiton, and
