“I like it,” said Hastings, looking at her.
“So do I—this is the dining-room.” She opened a door and motioned him to go in. He went in and said it was delicious—still looking at her.
“We shouldn’t think it so delicious in England, I suppose. I’ve never sat on horsehair in England.”
“Rather slippery, isn’t it?”
“This is what we call the living-room—” Opening another door; “your wife would perhaps call it the drawing-room—you are married?”
“No—but why should you say my wife would call it that?”
“Why shouldn’t she?”
“Because—why shouldn’t she call it what you do?”
“Don’t get stuffy about it—I didn’t mean to say anything against your wife.”
“But you did—and it’s a thing no man should stand—you said she would do what you wouldn’t do.”