“It’s hysteria. Poor thing, you can see she’s overwrought.”
“Give her a fine; un bon petit cognac.”
“Waiter!”
“Garçon.”
“Never mind, Precious,” the fat man crooned. “You shall ride in a comfy taxi-cab with me.”
“No; indeed she shan’t,” Mrs. Sixsmith snapped. “You may rely on me, Ernest, for that!”
Rejecting the proffered spirits with a gesture, Miss Sinquier controlled her grief.
“It’s not often I’m so silly,” she said.
“There, there!”
“Excuse this exhibition....”