Don't _you_ love your bath ?" asks Tita.
Lady Rylton sits glaring at her, as if too horrified to go on.

Tita continues: "If you don't, you ought, you know," says she.
"You must be out of your mind to talk to me like this," says Lady Rylton at last.

Something in the girl's air tells her that there is some little touch of devilment in it, some anger, some hatred.

"But, naturally, I make allowances for you.

Your birth, your surroundings, your bringing up, all preclude the idea that you should know how to manage yourself in the world into which you have been thrown by your marriage with my son." "As for my birth," says Tita slowly, "I did not choose it; and you should be the last to throw it in my teeth.