Then she noticed a man sitting by himself not far away, with a newspaper on his knee.
"Suppose we take Mr.Horne, Peter ?" "Don't let's take anybody!" said the boy.

"And anyway Horne's a nuisance just now.

He talks you dead with strikes--and nationalization--and labour men--and all that rot.

Can't we ever let it alone?
I want to talk to _you_, Helena.

I say, you are ripping in that dress! You're just _divine_, Helena!" The girl laughed, her sweetest, most rippling laugh.
"Go on like that, Peter.