'I shan't live in a good part. I know enough to know that,' she went on.
'Dear young lady, there are no bad parts,' I answered, reassuringly.
'Why, Mr. Nettlepoint says it's horrid.'
'It's horrid?'
'Up there in the Batignolles. It's worse than Merrimac Avenue.'
'Worse—in what way?'
'Why, even less where the nice people live.'
'He oughtn't to say that,' I returned. 'Don't you call Mr. Porterfield a nice person?' I ventured to subjoin.
'Oh, it doesn't make any difference.' She rested her eyes on me a moment through her veil, the texture of which gave them a suffused prettiness. 'Do you know him very well?' she asked.
'Mr. Porterfield?'