“It’s just as well to tell you,” said Lord Barnstaple, “that if Emmy happens to come to this room when she’s in one of her infernal tempers, she’ll raise the deuce of a row, and order you to send these things where they came from. If she does, stand to your guns, and tell her I gave ’em to you. They’re mine, not hers. Don’t refer her to me, for God’s sake! You’re quite able to take care of yourself.”
“She shan’t have them—and thanks so much. You can smoke if you like. I’ll light it for you.”
“Upon my word, I believe this will be the pleasantest room in the house—a haven of refuge! Well, how do you like us? What do you think of us? You’re an interesting child. I’m curious to hear your impressions.”
“I must say I do feel rather like a child since I came over here”—Lee made this admission with a slight pout—“and I thought I was quite a person-of-the-world after two winters in San Francisco and one in the East.”
“Oh, we’re pickled; you’re only rather well seasoned over there. But do you like us?”
“Yes—I think I do. The women are very nice to me, and although I don’t understand half they say, and they are quite unlike all my old ideals, and I’m never exactly sure whether they’ll speak to me the next time they see me, I feel as if I’d get on with them. I must say, though, I don’t see any reason why I should attempt to make myself over into a bad imitation of them, like Emmy——”
“Some of them—your countrywomen—are such jolly good imitations—that they no longer amuse the Prince of Wales. Emmy happens to be a fool.”
“The men look as if they’d be really charming if they could talk about anything but grouse, and I had one last night at dinner who was so tired he never made one remark from the time he sat down till he got up.”
“Men are not amusing during the shooting season; but, after all, my dear, men were not especially designed to amuse women.”
“That’s your way of looking at it.”