“Everything costs a great deal with you, n’est-ce pas?”
“I should say it did. No one ought to blame us for telling what things cost, because everything costs so much. A carriage is six to ten marks an hour.”
“C’est assez cher!” he said, laughing.
“C’est un peu trop!” she rejoined warmly. “But the well-to-do certainly do revel in griddle-cakes and hot-water faucets, and when I meet an American man in Europe I am forced to believe that they are the only really worthy ambitions to be striven for.”
“I could not live there, I think,” he exclaimed.
“I’m afraid not,” said she sadly. “You don’t play golf or drink, and men of leisure have almost no other careers open to them with us.”
“I have my music.”
“But you could never enjoy that there,” she cried, shivering involuntarily. “Every one talks during music, and some cough, and gentlemen clear their throats—”
“And does no one hiss them?” he interrupted, wide-eyed.