“It is very charming,” she said with her soft drawl. “Have you no cigarettes, Lydia?”
The girl flushed and looked to Frederic for relief. He promptly produced his own cigarettes. Yvonne lighted one and then stretched herself in the Morris chair.
“You should learn to smoke,” she went on.
“Mother wouldn't like me to smoke,” said Lydia rather bluntly.
A faint frown appeared on Frederic's brow, only to disappear with Yvonne's low, infectious laugh.
“And Freddy doesn't like you to smoke either, aïe?” she said.
“He may have changed his mind recently, Mrs Brood,” said the girl, smiling so frankly that the edge was taken off of a rather direct implication.
“I don't mind women smoking,” put in Frederic hastily. “In fact, I rather like it, the way Yvonne does it. It's a very graceful accomplishment.”
“But I am too clumsy to——” began Lydia.
“My dear,” interrupted the Parisienne, carelessly flicking the ash into a jardinière at her elbow, “it is very naughty to smoke, and clumsy women never should be naughty. If you really feel clumsy, don't, for my sake, ever try to do anything wicked. There is nothing so distressing as an awkward woman trying to be devilish.”