Mrs. Roberts, introducing them: “Mr. Bemis, have you met Mrs. Miller?” She drifts away again, manifestly too uneasy to resume even a provisional pose on the sofa, and walks detachedly about the room.
Bemis: “What a lovely apartment Mrs. Roberts has.”
Mrs. Miller: “Exquisite! But then she has such perfect taste.”
Bemis, to Mrs. Roberts, who drifts near them: “We were talking about your apartment, Mrs. Roberts. It’s charming.”
Mrs. Roberts: “It is nice. It’s the ideal way of living. All on one floor. No stairs. Nothing.”
Bemis: “Yes, when once you get here! But that little matter of five pair up”—
Mrs. Roberts: “You don’t mean to say you walked up! Why in the world didn’t you take the elevator?”
Bemis: “I didn’t know you had one.”
Mrs. Roberts: “It’s the only thing that makes life worth living in a flat. All these apartment hotels have them.”
Bemis: “Bless me! Well, you see, I’ve been away from Boston so long, and am back so short a time, that I can’t realize your luxuries and conveniences. In Florence we always walk up. They have ascenseurs in a few great hotels, and they brag of it in immense signs on the sides of the building.”