"Lady Rylton here and Lady Rylton there.

Absurd, _I_ call it." She makes a pretence at laughter, but it is a sorry one--her laugh is only angry.
"I suppose it can't be helped," says Tita indifferently.

Her eyes are still downcast, her young mouth a little scornful.
"But if you are to be Lady Rylton as well as I, how are we to distinguish?
What am _I_ to be ?" "The dowager, I suppose," says Tita, with a little flash of malice.
She has been rubbed the wrong way a trifle too much for _one_ afternoon.
_"The dowager!"_ Lady Rylton springs to her feet.

"I--do you think that _I_ shall follow _you_ out of a room ?" "Follow me! I'd hate you to follow me anywhere!" says Tita, who does not certainly follow her as to her meaning.
"That is meant to be a smart speech, I presume," says Lady Rylton, sinking back into her seat once more.

"But do not for a moment imagine that I dread you.