She raised inquiring eyebrows:

“Mad cow?” she asked.

He nodded:

“Hunger,” said he, and he laughed.... “It doesn’t sound an alluring dish, does it?”

“How dreadful!” she purred, and sipped tea. “Still”—she sighed—“it must be rather exciting. It must be so romantic—to starve.”

Pangbutt shrugged his shoulders:

“This is an age of romance, then,” said he.

She sighed, prattling on:

“And it must be delicious to be famous.”

The flattery sent a smirk to Pangbutt’s lips: