The next day Adrian went about as glum as a dinosaur in a museum, and conveyed, even to Susan's childish mind, his desire for solitude.

His hang-dog dismalness so affected my wife, that she challenged Doria.
"What in the world is the matter with him, to-day ?" Doria drew herself up and flashed a glance at Barbara--they were both little bantams of women, one dark as wine, the other fair as corn.

If ever these two should come to a fight, thought I who looked on, it would be to the death.
"Your friends are very charming, my dear, and of course I've nothing to say against them; but I was under the impression that every educated person in the English-speaking world knew my husband's name, and I consider the way he was ignored last night by those people was disgraceful." "But, my dear Doria," cried Barbara, aghast, "we thought that Adrian was having quite a good time." "You may think so, but he wasn't.

Adrian's a gentleman and plays the game; but you must see it was very galling to him--and to me--to be treated like any stockbroker--or architect--or idle man about town." "You are unfortunate in your examples," said I, intervening judicially.
"Pray reflect that there are architects alive whose artistic genius is not far inferior to Adrian's." "You know very well what I mean," she snapped.
"No, we don't, dear," said Barbara dangerously.

"We think you're a little idiot and ought to be ashamed of yourself.