'But the critics. Do you mean they don't know "Hamlet"?'
'There are no critics, and they don't know anything. They are violent ignoramuses who write for unreadable papers.'
'Then why do you ever consider them?'
'Because they are not critics, and because in New York everyone reads the unreadable. This is my room—you are next door, I think.'
'I shan't come to dinner,' she said. 'I am rather tired. By the way, is that large, beautiful girl Mrs. Palmer's daughter?'
'Probably. Why?'
'Will she be at the play to-night?'
'Probably. Why?'
Mrs. Emsworth frowned.
'It is not fit,' she said.