“Yes,” said Georgette. “To laugh at.”
“Did you hear that, Henry?” Mrs. Braddocks called down the table to Braddocks. “Mr. Barnes introduced his fiancée as Mademoiselle Leblanc, and her name is actually Hobin.”
“Of course, darling. Mademoiselle Hobin, I’ve known her for a very long time.”
“Oh, Mademoiselle Hobin,” Frances Clyne called, speaking French very rapidly and not seeming so proud and astonished as Mrs. Braddocks at its coming out really French. “Have you been in Paris long? Do you like it here? You love Paris, do you not?”
“Who’s she?” Georgette turned to me. “Do I have to talk to her?”
She turned to Frances, sitting smiling, her hands folded, her head poised on her long neck, her lips pursed ready to start talking again.
“No, I don’t like Paris. It’s expensive and dirty.”
“Really? I find it so extraordinarily clean. One of the cleanest cities in all Europe.”
“I find it dirty.”
“How strange! But perhaps you have not been here very long.”