"Ugh! Your hair's all wet with sea-water.
Why don't you dry yourself when you take a bath, Pobs dear?
I'll come with you to-morrow--not to dry you, I mean, but just to bathe." Stair surveyed her with a twinkle as he retrieved her plate of kidneys and bacon from the hearth where it had been set down to keep hot.
"Diana, I regret to observe that your conversation lacks the flavour of respectability demanded by your present circumstances," he remarked.
"I fear you'll never be an ornament to any clerical household." "No.

_Pas mon metier_.

Respectability isn't in the least a _sine qua non_ for a prima donna--far from it!" Stair chuckled.
"To hear you talk, no one would imagine that in reality you were the most conventional of prudes," he flung at her.
"Oh, but I'm growing out of it," she returned hopefully.

"Yesterday, for instance, I palled up with a perfectly strange young man.

We conversed together as though we had known each other all our lives, shared the same table for dinner--" "You didn't ?" broke in Joan, a trifle shocked.
Diana nodded serenely.
"Indeed I did.