“I know that.”
“You are so deadly civil.”
“Not to everybody, only to servants.” I said this apologetically.
“You never keep a steady hand. You either grovel at their feet or snap their heads off.”
“Quite true,” I admitted, humbly.
“But it was grand, wasn’t it?” she said.
“Unspeakably grand.”
And for Americans it was.
We were still at “The Insular,” when one day I took up a handful of what had once been a tight bodice, and said to my sister:
“See how thin I’ve grown! I believe I am starving to death.”