She waved them a complacent adieu before they mixed with the crowd and lost sight of her.
"Well, my dear," said March, addressing the snobbishness in his wife which he knew to be so wholly impersonal, "you've mingled with one highhote, anyway.

I must say she didn't look it, any more than the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, and yet she's only a baroness.

Think of our being three hours in the same compartment, and she doing all she could to impress us and our getting no good of it! I hoped you were feeling her quality, so that we should have it in the family, anyway, and always know what it was like.

But so far, the highhotes have all been terribly disappointing." He teased on as they followed the traeger with their baggage out of the station; and in the omnibus on the way to their hotel, he recurred to the loss they had suffered in the baroness's failure to dramatize her nobility effectually.

"After all, perhaps she was as much disappointed in us.