‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. “I don’t know. The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. There are so many girls nowadays who are quite unpresentable at tea, with their untrimmed laughs, their awful dispositions of their legs when they sit down, their slangy disrespect; they no longer smoke, it is true, like the girls of the eighties and nineties, nevertheless to a fine intelligence they have the flavor of tobacco. You make yourself charming for help.
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