'Have a Manhattan cocktail?' asked the hostess.
'No thanks; very hot, isn't it?' said Lissa in her most refined manner. She was looking very pretty, dark, slim and snaky in her close-fitting lemon coloured frock.
'Very hot,' chimed in Zoé. She was sitting unnecessarily erect. Her flat French back seemed to abhor the easy chair. Her tight hair, her trim hands, her well boned collar, everything breathed neatness, well laced stays, a full complement of hooks and eyes. She might have been the sedate wife of a prosperous French tradesman.
'Yes, it is hot,' said Victoria.
Then the conversation flagged. The hostess tried to draw out her guests. They were obviously anxious to behave. Lissa posed for 'The Sketch,' Zoé remained très correcte.
'Do you like my pictures?' asked Victoria pointing to the French engravings.
'They are very pretty,' said Lissa.
'I am very interested in engravings,' said Zoé, looking at the rosewood clock. There was a longish pause.
'I must show you my little dogs,' cried Victoria. She must do something. She went out to the landing and opened the garden door. There she met Augusta carrying a trayful of finger bowls. She felt inspired to overturn it if only to break the ice. Snoo and Poo rushed in, but in the boudoir they also instinctively became very well-bred.
'I am very fond of dogs,' said Lissa. Snoo lay down on her back.