in?"

"You met him then at the door with my sister? I supposed you had--he's
taking her home," Nick explained.

"Your sister's a lovely girl--such an aristocratic type!" breathed Mrs.
Rooth. Then she added: "I've a tremendous confession to make to you."

"Mamma's confessions have to be tremendous to correspond with her
crimes," said Miriam. "She asked Miss Dormer to come and see us,
suggested even that you might bring her some Sunday. I don't like the
way mamma does such things--too much humility, too many _simagrees_,
after all; but I also said what I could to be nice to her. Your sister
_is_ charming--awfully pretty and modest. If you were to press me I
should tell you frankly that it seems to me rather a social muddle, this
rubbing shoulders of 'nice girls' and _filles de theatre_: I shouldn't
think it would do your poor young things much good. However, it's their
own affair, and no doubt there's no more need of their thinking we're
worse than we are than of their thinking we're better. The people they
live with don't seem to know the difference--I sometimes make my
reflexions about the public one works for."

"Ah if you go in for the public's knowing differences you're far too
particular," Nick laughed. "_D'ou tombez-vous_? as you affected French
people say. If you've anything at stake on that you had simply better
not play."

"Dear Mr. Dormer, don't encourage her to be so dreadful; for it _is_
dreadful, the way she talks," Mrs. Rooth broke in. "One would think we
weren't respectable--one would think I had never known what I've known
and been what I've been."

"What one would think, beloved mother, is that you're a still greater
humbug than you are. It's you, on the contrary, who go down on your
knees, who pour forth apologies about our being vagabonds."

"Vagabonds--listen to her!--after the education I've given her and our
magnificent prospects!" wailed Mrs. Rooth, sinking with clasped hands
upon the nearest ottoman.

"Not after our prospects, if prospects they be: a good deal before them.
Yes, you've taught me tongues and I'm greatly obliged to you--they no
doubt give variety as well as incoherency to my conversation; and that
of people in our line is for the most part notoriously monotonous and
shoppy. The gift of tongues is in general the sign of your true
adventurer. Dear mamma, I've no low standard--that's the last thing,"
Miriam went on. "My weakness is my exalted conception of respectability.
Ah