"Are those pearls real?" said an imperious whisper from the right.
"I am not a judge of precious stones," I admitted, "although in the process of time I think I shall be."
"One can't believe they are real. If they are, they must be priceless. What a wonderful head that man has! And who, pray, is the other?"
"Herr Brouss is his name. The circus-ring is his vocation."
"I once met a distinguished foreigner, a Baron Somebody, a great politician who looked exactly like that. It was at Spa or one of those foreign watering-places. By the way, Odo, what did the other man mean by 'the mad Dutchman is waving his torch over the powder keg'? I see in the paper this morning that relations are strained between Germany and Illyria.
"It is one of those cryptic phrases to which we have not the key."
"What a delicious entrée! This is coals of fire with a vengeance. I hope you are not living beyond your means."
"Try the madeira—I see our excellent Vicar has discovered it. I am wondering, Mary, whether I could win a little support again in high places, as an out-and-out opponent of socialism in any shape or form."
"I will make no rash promises, Odo"—the Great Lady took a wary sip of the paternal vintage—"but I will speak to dear Evelyn if you wish, although you certainly don't deserve to be forgiven."
"I hope you will assure her that no one has a profounder veneration for a poor but deserving class."