“You must come and have a look at my new yacht, Mrs. Moncreiff,” said Mr. Gilman in his solemn, thick voice. “I always say that no yacht is herself without ladies on board, a yacht being feminine, you see.” He gave a little laugh.
“Ah! My oncle!” Madame Piriac broke in. “I see in that no reason. If a yacht was masculine then I could see the reason in it.”
“Perhaps not one of my happiest efforts,” said Mf. Gilman with resignation. “I am a dull man.”
“No, no!” Madame Piriac protested. “You are a dear. But why have you said nothing to-night at the Foas in the great discussion about feminism? Not one word have you said!”
“I really don’t understand it,” said Mr. Gilman. “Either everybody is mad, or I am mad. I dare say I am mad.”
“Well,” said Madame Piriac. “I said not much myself, but I enjoyed it. It was better than the music, music, which they talk always there. People talk too much shops in these days. It is out-to-place and done over.”
“Do you mean overdone?” asked Mr. Gilman mildly.
“Well, overdone, if you like better that.”
“Do you mean shop, Hortense?” asked Mr. Gilman further.
“Shop, shop! The English is impossible!”