“They are always harping on that little trumpery girl’s nonsense,” said Harry. “Aught, aught, eight, that is eight thousandths, eh, Norman! If it was about those two fellows, the boys—”
“You would harp only on what affects you?” said the doctor.
“No, I don’t; men never do. That is one hundred and twenty-fifth.”
“One man does it to an hundred and twenty-five women?” said Dr. May.
“It is rather a female defect, indeed,” said Margaret.
“Defect!” said Flora.
“Yes,” said Dr. May, “since it is not only irksome to the hearers, but leads to the breaking of the ninth commandment.”
Many voices declared, in forms of varying severity, that it was impossible to speak worse of the Andersons than they deserved.
“Andersons again!” cried Dr. May. “One, two, three, four, five, six forfeits!”
“Papa himself, for he said the name,” saucily put in Blanche.