“He does.”
“I admire enormously his friend.”
“Mr. Nice?”
“He has such perfect sloth. I love his lazaroni-ness, his Riva-Schiavoni-ness.... He’s very, very handsome. But, of course, it cannot last!”
“No?”
“Like an open rose: Have you no sympathy yourself?”
“None.”
“That’s a pity. An actress ... she needs a lover: a sort of husbandina, as it were ...; I always say Passion tells: L’amour!”
Miss Sinquier threw a glance towards Mrs. Sixsmith, who stood listlessly flirting her fan.
“I’m going to the buffet, child,” she said.