If we had a dish of tea to brew for you gentlemen we would do it; but Indian willow makes a vile and bitter tea, and I had as lief go tealess, as I do and expect to continue until our husbands teach the Tory King his manners." She rose, giving me her pretty hand to aid her, shook out her dainty skirts, put up her quizzing glass, and inspected me, smilingly.
"Bring her when you think it time," she said.

"Somehow I already believe that she may be something of what your fancy paints her.

And that would be a miracle." "Truly she is a miracle," I said earnestly.
"Then remember not to say it to Angelina Lansing--and above all never hint as much to Lana Helmer.

Women are human; and pretty women perhaps a little less than human.

Leave them to me.