“Well, I’d prefer a Russian myself.”
“Why! what do you mean?”
“They’re not so fierce, and if one likes fierceness they’re plenty fierce enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The way that he came bursting in on us to-day.”
“But that was splendid! it was lovely to see him so worked up.”
“You never can count on when he’ll work up, though.”
“But I like men you can’t count on.”
“Do you?”
“You see, I could always count on my husband, and that sort of arithmetic isn’t to my taste any more.”