She wrote a few words, stopped, and bit the end of the pencil.
"It's dreadful when gentlemen will quarrel about you," she said in a tone and with an air in which gratified vanity forced itself firmly through the affectation of distress.
"What gentlemen ?" said Pollyooly.
"Mr.Vance and my fiongsay, Mr.Reginald Butterwick," said Flossie.

"I don't know how he found out that Mr.Vance is friendly with me; and I'm sure there's nothing in it--I told him so.

But he's that jealous when there's a gentleman in the case that he can't believe a word I say.

It isn't that he doesn't try; but he can't.

He says he can't.