“Freule,[1] to explain that, I should have to talk to you for two hours about myself; and you wouldn’t be interested in the explanation....”
“Oh, yes!” said Marianne, flippantly. “If you had remained a tram-driver, your life would not have interested me. Now that you have resigned your rank as a workman and are eating pâté and drinking champagne with us, it does interest me. For it’s just that evolution which attracts me....”
“Marianne!” said Paul, admonishing her. “Not so fast, child: you’re only a little girl and you mustn’t discuss such questions. You’ll be making Mr. Brauws afraid to take another mouthful!...”
Brauws was obviously a little annoyed; and Constance whispered:
“Marianne ... don’t talk like that....”
“No, dear, don’t do it: don’t talk like that....”
“Am I always saying tactless things?”
“No, no, but ... if you keep on, you’ll really make Brauws refuse to come to the houses of people like ourselves....”
“Who eat pâté!”