Except for the gaudy decorations and the twanging accents of the arrogant young women, Gabriella might have imagined herself in the last century atmosphere of Broad Street in the middle 'nineties.
"I must tell you about the things I use." Florrie was always generous.
"But, I declare if I'd known this place was yours, I'd have got my hats here ages ago.

Of course I knew it was dreadfully swell, but I thought the prices were beyond anything." "They are," responded Gabriella with business-like brevity, while she glanced about for the flitting Miss Murphy.
"Look here, Gabriella, I hope you don't bear me any malice," Florrie burst out solicitously, for her frankness, like her sensuality, was elemental in its audacity.

"You oughtn't to if you know what I saved you from," she proceeded convincingly.

"Anyway, we were chums long before either of us ever thought about a man, and I didn't really do you a bit of harm.

It wasn't as if you cared about George, was it ?" "No, it wasn't as if I'd cared about him." Gabriella was answering the appeal as truthfully as if Florrie had been the most excellent of her sex.