He jumped about in his best patent leather boots, apparently quite heedless whether he spoilt them or not; and when he picked up Miss Golightly's parasol from the gravel, he seemed to suffer no anxiety about his gloves.
He handed out the ladies one after another, as though his life had been passed in handing out ladies, as, indeed, it probably had--in handing them out and handing them in; and when Mrs.Val's 'private' carriage passed on, he was just as courteous to the Misses Neverbend and Katie in their cab, as he had been to the greater ladies who had descended from the more ambitious vehicle.
As Katie said afterwards to Linda, when she found the free use of her voice in their own bedroom, 'he was a darling little duck of a man, only he smelt so strongly of tobacco.' But when they were once in the garden, Victoire had no time for anyone but Mrs.Val and Clementina.

He had done his duty by the Misses Neverbend and those other two insipid young English girls, and now he had his own affairs to look after.

He also knew that Miss Golightly had L20,000 of her own! He was one of those butterfly beings who seem to have been created that they may flutter about from flower to flower in the summer hours of such gala times as those now going on at Chiswick, just as other butterflies do.

What the butterflies were last winter, or what will become of them next winter, no one but the naturalist thinks of inquiring.

How they may feed themselves on flower-juice, or on insects small enough to be their prey, is matter of no moment to the general world.