“You’re a dear child and I love you and I almost understand what you’re talking about. But you could never understand America—and sometimes I’m glad of it.... And America never will be able to understand you.”
“What would Americans theenk of me if I come to New York?”
“They would think you were very lovely.”
“I do not mean that. I am not lovely. I am ver’ hideous. See, I cover my face bicause you are afraid.”
“Let’s not bother about America—just about us.”
“But I am jalouse. I hate thees American yo’ng girl.”
“Fiddlesticks!”
“For all you say, I theenk she come here las’ night.”
“Now, look here—”
She laughed gaily and ran to the window. “See, I shall jump down and die.... Bon soir, Arlette....”