“Oh, Adelaide,” said her hostess, “we were just wondering what you paid originally for your tapestry.”
“The one in the hall?”
“No, the one with the Turk in it.”
“I haven’t an idea,—” Adelaide was distinctly languid,—“I got it from my grandfather.”
“Wouldn’t you know she’d say that?” exclaimed one of the women. “Not that I deny it’s true; only, you know, Adelaide, whenever you do want to throw a veil over one of your pieces, you always call on the prestige of your ancestors.”
Adelaide raised her eyebrows.
“Really,” she answered, “there isn’t anything so very conspicuous about having had a grandfather.”
“No,” her hostess echoed, “even I, so well and favorably known for my vulgarity—even I had a grandfather.”
“But he wasn’t a connoisseur in tapestries, Minnie darling.”
“No, but he was in pigs, the dear vulgarian.”