"Have you
seen the ladies' boudoir?" he asked. "You know, the room fitted with
knick-knacks and pretty things--some of 'em bought from old collections
in Europe, by fellows who knew what they were but perhaps," he added,
looking into her eyes for the first time, "didn't know exactly what
ladies cared for."
"I merely glanced in there when I first came, for there was such a queer
lot of women--I'm told he isn't very particular in that way--that I
didn't stay."
"And you didn't think THEY might be just as valuable and good as some of
the furniture, if they could have been pulled around and put into shape,
or set in a corner, eh?"
The young girl smiled; she thought her fellow-guest rather amusing, none
the less so, perhaps, for catching up her own ideas, but nevertheless
she slightly shrugged her shoulders with that hopeless skepticism which
women reserve for their own sex. "Some of them looked as if they had
been pulled around, as you say, and hadn't been improved by it.
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