She tried hard to imitate a detachment which was a little uncanny, yet knowing all the time that she was making a sad hash of the performance. The trick seldom comes easy to the daughters of Eve.
"Who did you say she was?"
"Her father is Sir Arthur Babraham." The impersonality of William made her writhe.
"Oho!" said June, still trying her best to rise to William's level, and fully conscious that she was failing miserably. "One of the big bugs, eh?"
It was vulgar, she knew, to speak in that way. Among the things she had learned at the Blackhampton High School was a due and proper regard for baronets. Miss Preece, its august headmistress, would have been shocked, not merely by her tone, but also by her choice of words. But High School or no High School, the intrusion of Sir Arthur Babraham suddenly made her see red. She must be vulgar—or burst!
"What you'd call one of the smart set, I suppose?" said June abruptly breaking a long and rather trying pause. "Well, I don't think much of her stick-eyeglass, anyway."
Terrific disparagement of Miss Babraham, her works and her belongings was intended, yet to the queer creature seated opposite who by now was almost ready for the tapioca pudding, which had been so carefully prepared for him, it did not seem to imply anything at all.
"You take no stock of smart sets, I dare say," said June, with growing truculence. "You've never heard of them, have you? China tea sets are more in your line, aren't they?"
That was real wit, and people far less clever than
