She acted as her mother had taught her to. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. “Earning a salary!” “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud.
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