‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face.
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