He took his cigarette out of his mouth, examined it carefully, and replaced it between his lips.
“But one washes here,” he said presently.
“One—washes—” she stammered blankly; and then it flashed across her that it was the bath-tub that was rankling in his soul, and she gasped, adjusted herself, and answered:
“Of course one washes here. But in America it is all made so convenient, and is regarded as less of an event.”
“It is no event to me to wash,” he said indignantly; “I find no excitement in washing.”
“I never said you did; I was comparing quite another class of society with their equals in the other country.”
“But to shave,” he went on, “that I find terrible.”
“It’s no worse than having a coiffure to make.”
“But I have no coiffure to make.”
“No; but I have.”