"I have met cabbies whom I much prefer to certain dukes."
"But I've a young man picked out for you. He's an artist."
"Good night!" murmured Kitty. "If there is one kind of person in the world dad considers wholly useless and incompetent, it's an artist or a poet."
"But this artist makes fifteen thousand and sometimes twenty thousand the year."
"Then he's no artist. What is his name?"
"Forbes, J. Mortimer Forbes."
"Oh. The pretty-cover man."
"My dear, he is one of the nicest young men in New York. His family is one of the best, and he goes everywhere. And but for his kindness…"
"What?"
"Some day I'll tell you the story. Here we go! Good-by, England!"