"My dear boy, why Fulham?" said Felicity, who was sitting at her writing-table not answering letters.
"About that bit of china."
"We don't want any more china, dear."
"It isn't a question of what we want! It is a question of what it would be a crime to miss. Old Staffordshire going for nothing! Really, Felicity!"
Felicity gave up the point. "I see.... How long are you going to stay in London?" she said.
"Well, I was just thinking.... You know, I don't care much about the season."
"You haven't had ten days of it," his wife answered. "Don't you think it looks rather odd always letting me go to dances and things alone?"
"No. Why odd? You like them. I don't."
She looked rather impatient. "Has it ever struck you that I'm—rather young—and not absolutely hideous?"
"Yes, very often," he said smiling. "Don't I show how it strikes me? Why?"