“Will you call on Cousin Emily Gore? . . . Huh?” asked Aunt May.
“Haven’t got a Prince Albert.”
“We are told it is no longer indispensable.”
“Oh, they’ll take us in anything now, eh?”
“Do be sensible, Wilfred! . . . Will you go?”
“Oh well, I suppose an author’s got to know all sides of life—even the lowest.”
The two ladies exchanged a look of mutual congratulation.
“Wednesday is her day,” said Aunt May. “And Wilfred, dear, do allow yourself to be . . . Huh? . . . As you know so well how to be. . . . This mocking air may be . . . But not in Cousin Emily’s world, my dear. . . .”
It was then, Wilfred saw, Aunt Fanny’s turn to feel that May was risking all they had gained by saying too much. Their faces were so transparent! “Cousin Emily takes a special interest in the débutantes,” Aunt Fanny hastily put in. “They say that this year’s débutantes are the loveliest in years!”
“Well I may be a Turk,” said Wilfred, “but I’m not as much of a Turk as that—no débutantes!”