“‘Small’ beer is all the butler would allow, sir.”
“Damn the b... butler!”
“What he calls a demi-brune, sir. In Naples we say spumenti!”
“To —— with it.”
“Non é tanto amarro, sir; it’s more sharp, as you’d say, than bitter....”
“......!!!!!!”
And language unmonastic far into the night reigned supreme.
Standing beneath the portraits of King Geo and Queen Glory, Lady Something, behind a large sheaf of mauve malmaisons, was growing stiff. Already, for the most part, the guests were welcomed, and it was only the Archduchess now, who as usual was late, that kept their Excellencies lingering at the head of the stairs. Her Majesty Queen Thleeanouhee of the Land of Dates had just arrived, but seemed loath to leave the stairs, while her hostess, whom she addressed affectionately as her dear gazelle, remained upon them— “Let us go away by and by, my dear gazelle,” she exclaimed with a primitive smile, “and remove our corsets and talk.”
“Unhappily Pisuerga is not the East, ma’am!” Lady Something replied.
“Never mind, my dear; we will introduce this innovation....”