Ida. Well, from something Mr. Pinceney told me the other day—but really it’s too bad to repeat such things. One never knows, there may be nothing in it.
Flossie. Still, you might just as well tell me, Ida! Of course I should never dream——
Ida. After all, I don’t suppose there’s any secret about it. It seems, from what Mr. Pinceney says, that this Mr. Poshley—you must promise not to say I told you——
Flossie. Of course—of course. But do go on, Ida. What does Mr. Poshley do?
Ida. Well, it appears he splits his infinitives.
Flossie (horrified). Oh, not really! But how cruel of him! Why, I met him at the Dragnetts’ only last week, and he didn’t look at all that kind of person!
Ida. I’m afraid there’s no doubt about it. It’s perfectly notorious. And of course any one who once takes to that——
Flossie. Yes, indeed. Quite hopeless. At least, I suppose so. Isn’t it?
Ida. Mr. Pinceney seemed to think so.