"I don't think I did, much," said Ora. Then she sat up straight and looked past Babba with an absent air. She had an idea of asking him what he thought of her in his heart. He was shrewd under his absurdities, kind under his vulgarity; he had never made love to her; in passing she wondered why. But after all nobody thought Babba's opinion worth anything.
"Do you remember meeting Miss Muddock here?" she enquired.
"Rather," said Babba. "I know her very well. Now she's a good sort—reminds you of your mother grown young."
"Well, she thought you detestable," said Ora. The praise of Alice was not grateful to her, although she acknowledged the aptness of Babba's phrase.
"Yes, she would," said he cheerfully. "I've got to shoulder that, you know. So have we all, if it comes to that."
"We all! What do you mean?" Ora did not seem amused now.
"Oh, our sort," said Babba. "I'll leave you out, if you particularly wish it."
"Just tell me what you mean."
"Can't, for the life of me," said Babba. "Have a cigarette?" He held out his case; Ora took a cigarette. They both began to smoke. "But we give her fits," he went on in a meditative tone, as of a man who recognised facts, although he disclaimed all power of explaining them. "I tell you what, though—" he resumed; but again he paused.