“Directly in the middle of the house. Gad! she’s a ripper.”
“You are right. That is the prettiest woman in New York. And her pedigree is probably as good as yours.”
“Who is she?”
“Mrs. Edward R. Forbes, the wife of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the United States.”
“Really!”
“That is her daughter beside her.”
“Her what!”
“I always enjoy making that shot. It throws a flash-light on the pitiful lack of originality in man every time. But it is nothing for the petted wife of an American millionaire to look thirty when she is forty. It’s the millionaire who looks sixty when he is fifty. I’m not including Forbes, by the way. That tall man of fine physique that has just left the box is he.”
“Poor thing!”
“Oh, don’t waste any pity on Forbes. He’s the envy of half New York. She is devoted to him, and with good reason: there are few men that can touch him at any point. I shall take you over presently. The first thing a distinguished stranger, who has had the tip, does when he comes to New York is to pay his court at that shrine. What a pity you are booked. That girl will come in for forty millions.”