“The song of the pilgrim women, how it haunts me,” one of the dowagers was holding forth: “I could never tire of that beautiful, beautiful music! Never tire of it. Ne-ver....”
“Ta, ta, ta, ta,” the Queen vociferated girlishly, slipping her arm affectionately through that of her son’s.
“How spent you look, my boy.... Those eyes....”
His Weariness grimaced.
“They’ve just been rubbing in Elsie!” he said.
“Who?”
“‘Vasleine’ and ‘Nanny-goat’!”
“Well?”
“Nothing will shake me.”
“What are your objections?”