"
"I hate champagne," said Mrs. Carnarvon. "Marian, you must not drink it;
you know you mustn't." This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to her
lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down slowly.
"What you said made me want to drink it," she said to Howard. "I was glad
to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it before, but
New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon I let that
stupid Englishman--Plymouth--you've met him? No?--Well, at any rate, he was
denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot about London."
"Frightful there, isn't it, after October and until May?"
"Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it's warm,
it's sticky. And when it's cold, it's raw."
"You are a New Yorker?"
"Yes," said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at his
ignorance. "That is, I spend part of the winter here--like all New
Yorkers."
"All?"
"Oh, all except those who don't count, or rather, who merely count."
"How do you mean?" Howard was taking advantage of her looking into her
plate to smile with a suggestion of irony. She happened to glance up and so
caught him.
"Oh," she said, smiling with frank irony at him, "I mean all those
people--the masses, I think they're called--the people who have to be
fussed over and reformed and who keep shops and--and all that.
Pages:
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104