The Duke raised one eyebrow to a level with his side parting.
"Lovely needlework! That's a funny beginning for a Pink un. Well?"
"Yes; but they do indeed. They sit all day in the sun and——"
"Damned silly girls! Spoil their complexions! They should go into the shade, eh! What—what?"
"I knew a grisette once who lived on a fourth floor in the Rue des Martyres," began Mr. Ingerstall in the distance; but nobody heeded him, and he relapsed passionately into his former moody silence.
"They sit in the sun and work hard for their living," continued Chloe, trying to look rakish without losing self-respect.
"Deuced tiresome to keep on working hard for one's living in the sun, eh, Rodney?" cried his Grace.
"I confess I should prefer to be under the trees, Duke—I confess that frankly," said the owner of Mitching Dean with unnecessary earnestness.
"Well, go on, Van Adam," said the Duke, expectant of some spicy development in this apparently unpromising plot—"they work for their living in the sun. Well?"