Hermione
"But it isn't, you know," said Fothergil eagerly. "It's a—a—it's a perfectly nice play. It's about a dog!"
"About a dog!" Her eyebrows went up, and her mouth rounded itself with the conviction that no perfectly nice play could possibly be about a dog. "I think that is dreadfully Coarse!" she said.
"But it isn't," protested Fothergil. "It's just the sort of thing you'd like."
"Indeed!" She felt slightly insulted at his assumption of what she would like, and dismissed the subject with a wave of her pretty hand. Fothergil tried again.
"I hope," he said ingratiatingly, "that you haven't been bothered much by mosquitoes." She looked a bit frightened, but said nothing, and he dashed on determinedly. "You know, this is a new variety of mosquitoes we've been having this year. Most of them have stripes on their legs, you know, but these have black legs this year. But maybe you haven't noticed——"
He stopped in midcareer. The preposterous idea that she could be interested in examining the legs of mosquitoes had too evidently outraged Hermione's mother. Fothergil, flushed and embarrassed, tried to make it better and made it worse.
"Maybe you haven't noticed their—er—limbs," said Fothergil.
[136]
