"Send your girl away: I want to talk to you," commanded Augusta, settling herself in the most comfortable chair in the room.
Barbara gave an impatient sigh, but obeyed. As the door closed behind the maid, she said: "Well, what is it? Are you going to urge me to marry Etienne? I wish you may not put yourself to so much trouble."
"You might do worse," said Augusta.
"To be sure I might. We are agreed, then."
"You know, you should be thinking seriously of marriage. You're twenty-five, my dear."
"Ah, marriage is a bore!"
"If you mean husbands are bores, I'm sure I heartily agree with you," responded Augusta. "They have to be endured for the sake of the blessings attached to them. Single, one has neither standing nor consequence."
"I'll tell you what, Gussie: the best is to be a widow - a dashing widow!"
"So you may think while you still possess pretensions to beauty. No longer, I assure you. As for 'dashing', that brings me to another thing I had to say. I believe I'm no prude, but those gilded toenails of yours are the outside of enough, Bab."
Barbara lifted a fold of the gauze to observe her bare feet. "Pretty, aren't they?"