That perpetual fighting to get into over-crowded hotels, crammed with vulgar specimens of your own fellow-countrymen, is really enjoyable and exhilarating work.
That a couple of journeys across the Channel, especially if it is blowing both ways, are at least always something pleasant to look back upon.
That when you once get home again, England, spite some trivial advantages, being without Belgian postmen, French omnibuses, and Swiss police-regulations, strikes you as almost unendurable.
At Monte Carlo.—Angelina (sentimentally). Look, Edwin, how the dear palms are opening themselves instinctively to the golden air.
Edwin (brutally remembering his losses at the table and the long hotel bill). If you can show me any palm in the place, human or vegetable, which doesn't open itself instinctively to the golden air, I'll eat my hat!
[Angelina sighed profoundly, and Edwin opened his purse strings.
