"Poor Anne! To think she actually stands between you and your Maker."
"Yes, you know—in her very anxiety to introduce us."
They looked at each other. Her sainthood was so accomplished, her union with heaven so complete, that she could afford herself these profaner sympathies. She was secretly indignant with Anne's view of Walter as unpresentable in the circles of the spiritual élite.
"It never struck her that you mightn't need an introduction after all; that you were in it as much as she. That's the sort of mistake one might expect from—from a spiritual parvenu, but not from Anne."
"Oh, come, I don't consider myself her equal by a long chalk."
"Well, say she does belong to the peerage; you're a gentleman, and what more can she require?"
"She can't see that I am (If I am. You say so). She considers me—spiritually—a bounder of the worst sort."
"That's her mistake. Though I must say you sometimes lend yourself to it with your horrible profanity."
"I can't help it, Edie. She's so funny with it. She makes me profane."
"Dear Walter, if you can think Anne funny—"