"Sudden pains in the back on washing-day, bending over the tub, and so forth? The portraits of the people before taking the remedy and after decided me. It seems, by the pictures, to make your hair grow long and give you whiskers and a ghastly squint. Ruins your clothes, too. Your collars get the wrong shape."
"Oh well, leave it alone, then. Perhaps you're right.... You haven't asked me about the Walmers' dance. I took Miss de Freyne to supper. The American chap never turned up, and I was getting on with her simply rippingly, when what do you think she said? Confided in me that she was privately engaged to and frightfully keen on that boy you met at Harry's. The baby Guardsman. Isn't it sickening?"
"What did Miss Walmer do?" asked Vaughan.
"She sort of hung about, waiting for Harry, who seemed to be getting on all right with the two strings to his bow, or two stools, or two bundles of hay, or whatever it is. What luck some people have!"
"Not in this case. He'll lose them both."
"He's not a diplomatist, and he wants such a lot for himself. He wants too much. No self-restraint."
"Pretty useless for Mrs. Wyburn. I like her. She looked topping last night, too. But I dare say it'll be all right. Romer's a good chap. Awfully dull."
"Most interesting. Are you going to stay here much longer, Muir?"
"Why? Yes."