"What things aren't done?"
"Oh, those crude, primitive performances we read about in novels. Nice people don't fall in love overnight, for instance. They don't allow themselves to hate, and be jealous, and to rage about like wild animals any more."
"The idea! Your father is a perfect savage, at heart," said Mrs. Banniman. She nodded at her sleeping husband, who was roused at that moment by a fly that had strayed into his right nostril. Mr. Banniman sneezed, half opened his eyes, and murmured a feeble anathema before dozing off again. It was plain that he was not greatly enjoying the Mardi Gras.
"All men are primitive," said Roly, quoting some forgotten author, at which Eleanor eyed him languidly.
"Could you love at first sight and run off with a girl?"
"Certainly not. I'd naturally have to know something about her people—"
"Were you ever jealous?"
"You've never given me an occasion," he told her, gallantly.
"Did you ever hate anybody?"
"Um-m—no!"