“Weally, Miss Florence, that is vewy clevah. You will have your joke.”
“It was no joke, I assure you, Mr. de Brabazon.”
“I—I thought it might be. Didn’t I see you at the opewa last evening?”
“Possibly. I was there.”
“I often go to the opewa. It’s so—so fashionable, don’t you know?”
“Then you don’t go to hear the music?”
“Oh, of course, but one can’t always be listening to the music, don’t you know. I had a fwiend with me last evening—an Englishman—a charming fellow, I assure you. He’s the second cousin of a lord, and yet—you’ll hardly credit it—we’re weally vewy intimate. He tells me, Miss Florence, that I’m the perfect image of his cousin, Lord Fitz Noodle.”
“I am not at all surprised.”
“Weally, you are vewy kind, Miss Florence. I thought it a great compliment. I don’t know how it is, but evewybody takes me for an Englishman. Strange, isn’t it?”
“I am very glad.”