“Lots—he has a big influence in the city. Don’t you know about it?”
“About his influence?”
“No—about his favouring me.”
“He tells me nothing now,” and her tone was bitter.
“You’ve been a good friend to him, Berty. He is never tired of singing your praises.”
“To whom does he sing? To Selina?”
“I don’t know. I’m not with them much.”
“Then he sings them to you?”
“Yes, just as soon as I pitch him the tune.”
“I should think you’d know enough of me,” said Berty, peevishly. “I’m sure you’re one of the earliest objects I remember seeing in life.”