"Rubbish, Mr. Vivian!" she said, clicking loudly and passing with an
almost upheaving jerk to her upper register! "I'm a mother and was once
a child. Rubbish! I must insist upon knowing the number of the rashes."
"I assure you there are none."
"D'you wish me to believe that the old lady has gone about all her life
in the Berkeley Square in long clothes and her hair down, with her lips
to the bottle and never had a rash? Do you wish me to believe that, Mr.
Vivian?"
"Yes, sir, do you wish Madame, a lady of deep education, sir, to believe
that?" cried Mr. Sagittarius.
"I can only adhere to what I have said," answered the Prophet. "My
grandmother has never been removed from the bottle, has never worn a
short coat, has never put her hair up and has never had an epidemic in
Berkeley Square."
"Then all I can say is that she's an unnatural old lady," cried Madame,
with obvious temper, tossing her head and kicking out the kid boots, as
if seized with the sudden desire to use them upon a human football. "And
there's not many like her."
"There is no one like her, no one at all," said the Prophet with
fervour.
"So I should suppose," cried Madame, forgetting the other questions as
to the day of marriage, etc.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252