Miss D. (Abstractedly.) Does he wax that moustache?
Miss T. (Busy with Powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why?
Miss D. (Bending over the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh, nothing—only—
Miss T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.
Miss D. Well, May Olger—she's engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know—said—Promise you won't repeat this?
Miss T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?
Miss D. That—that being kissed (with a rush) with a man who didn't wax his moustache was—like eating an egg without salt.
Miss T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I'm glad she doesn't belong to my set—I must go and feed this man! Do I look presentable?
Miss D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.
Miss T. 'Sure I don't care. I'm not afraid of Captain Gadsby.