“Business! Business!” The girl repeated. “You are so commercial just like all the nobility. If you were not a peer you would be mistaken for one. It’s quite painful.”
“That may b-be,” Buttercups spluttered. “But this idea of yours of going on the stage is quite as p-painful to me.”
He hesitated, then, as though uttering a great moral truth, threw out:
“It’s so dreadful to have your name in the papers!”
“And still more dreadful not to!” the girl threw back. She turned to Farnese. “You do nothing but eat!”
With large, melancholy, inconstant eyes the Italian looked at her. “It is my one consolation since you became engaged to that imbecile.”
Aurelia pecked at her food. “One always feels quite safe with an imbecile, and that is so restful. Try it and see.”
“I’d like to try it with you.”
Aurelia put down her fork. “Am I your idea of an imbecile? You are flattering, if insincere.”