Steps sounded upon the bridge, and the voice of Gazza cried out that the stupid key was at the imbecile club-house, whither he was now going for it, and not to be alarmed. Their voices answered reassuringly, and Gazza was heard growing distant, singing some little song.
Kitty was apparently unable to get away from John’s crudity. “He actually said that?”
“Yes.”
“Where was it? Tell me about it, Hortense.”
“We were walking in the country on that occasion.”
Kitty still lingered with it. “Did he look—I’ve never had any man—I wonder if—how did you feel?”
“Not disagreeably.” And Hortense permitted herself to laugh musically.
Kitty’s voice at once returned to the censorious tone. “Well, I call such language as that very—very—”
Hortense helped her. “Operatic?”
“He could never be taught in those ways either,” declared Kitty. “You would find his ardor always untrained—provincial.”