"I'm sorry that I do not," said the Angel. "I have read very few books."
"How charming of you!" said Mrs. Jehoram. "I wish I didn't. I sympathise with you profoundly. I would do the same, only we poor women———I suppose it's originality we lack——— And down here one is driven to the most desperate proceedings———"
"He's certainly very pretty. But the ultimate test of a man is his strength," said George Harringay. "What do you think?"
"Oh!—I think so too," said the younger Miss Pirbright.
"It's the effeminate man who makes the masculine woman. When the glory of a man is his hair, what's a woman to do? And when men go running about with beautiful hectic dabs———"
"Oh George! You are so dreadfully satirical to-day," said the younger Miss Pirbright. "I'm sure it isn't paint."
"I'm really not his guardian, my dear Lady Hammergallow. Of course it's very kind indeed of you to take such an interest———"
"Are you really going to improvise?" said Mrs. Jehoram in a state of cooing delight.
