"How do you like Jack Danby?" Irene inquired.
"He's all right. Only I don't know—I think if I'd met him last year I'd have thought him a swine. I think I must be turning funny. What are they—these long friends of yours?" she added, after a pause. "What do they do in Paris?"
"They bring out books," Irene informed her.
"Books?" echoed Jenny. "What sort of books?"
"Ordinary books, I suppose," said Irene, slightly huffed by Jenny's contemptuous incredulity.
"Well, what do they want to live in Paris for, if they're ordinary books?"
"That's where their business is."
"Funny place to do a business in ordinary books."
"I don't see why."
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. But I think it's funny, that's all. You are deep, Irene."