“What a brilliant neighborhood we have! And there are people will tell you that this is all barbarism here.”
“Come over this evening, Jack, and hear M. Pracontal sing—he has a delicious tenor voice—and you 'll never believe in that story of barbarism again. We had quite a little 'salon' last night.”
“I must take your word for his attractive qualities,” said Jack, as his brow contracted and his face grew darker. “I thought your brother rather stood aloof from Mr. Longworth. I was scarcely prepared to hear of his inviting him here.”
“So he did; but he found him so different from what he expected—so quiet, so well-bred, that George, who always is in a hurry to make an 'amende' when he thinks he has wronged any one, actually rushed into acquaintance with him at once.”
“And his sister Julia,” asked Jack, with a look of impertinent irony, “was she, too, as impulsive in her friendship?”
“I think pretty much the same.”
“It must have been a charming party.”
“I flatter myself it was. They stayed till midnight; and M. Pracontal declared he'd break his other leg to-morrow if it would ensure him another such evening in his convalescence.”
“Fulsome rascal! I protest it lowers my opinion of women altogether when I think these are the fellows that always meet their favor.”
“Women would be very ungrateful if they did not like the people who try to please them. Now, certainly, as a rule, Jack, you will admit foreigners are somewhat more eager about this than you gentlemen of England.”