“One always knows how one stands.”
The soldier produced a cigarette-case from the pocket of his elaborately braided dinner-coat. The string band in an alcove had struck up the overture to a popular comic opera. A party of girls came in from the vestibule, laughing and chattering, their dresses forming a brilliant mingling of colors under the palms.
“Do you mind smoke?” said the man, humming the chorus the band was playing.
“Not a bit. My husband smokes everywhere.”
“Lucky man. You spoil him, of course. Is he here with you?”
“No. He spends his time at home grubbing about in books.”
“Nonsense!”
“All husbands are spoiled,” said Ophelia.
The major elevated his eyebrows and appeared interested.
“What cynicism—at your age!”