inciting scent, perhaps Bichara's Ambre, evaporated from the furs. It was obscene of this woman, Campaspe reflected, to have the effrontery to look five years younger than her eldest daughter.
Do you mind, Fannie, if I drink my coffee while we talk? Without waiting for a reply, Campaspe pressed the jewelled head of her bed-table tortoise. Fannie was seated in a comfortable chair before the grate in which the hot coals glowed.
You still know, dearest Fannie, what belongs to a frippery!
Lanvin and Vionnet tell me, Mrs. Blake demurred. Then: How's Cupid?
Just the same. He's keeping a snake-charmer.
Fannie laughed. A snake-charmer!
Well, just at present she is a moving picture star. I am a little sorry for her. She deserves something better than Cupid.
How can you let him, 'paspe?
Let him, Fannie! I encourage him.
Mrs. Blake was powdering her face. We are so different, she said, you and I, and yet you are the only member of my family with whom I can get along. I don't understand you, but I adore you. As for me, in such a case, I would be jealous. A man must belong to me.
I know, Fannie dearest. We want different things, but in the end it is the same. Our bond is simple. We both get what we want and we admire each other for it.
