She tried to laugh; and the little silver bells sounded shrill and false:
“Making love to me?... Uncle Henri?... People are mad!”
“You were out with him yesterday ... in a motor-car.”
“And what is there in that?”
“Don’t do it again.”
“Why not?”
“Everybody’s talking about it.”
Again she tried to laugh; and the little silver bells sounded shrill and false:
“Uncle Henri!” she said. “Why, he might be my father!”
“You know you don’t mean what you say.”