"You _are_ country!" she said again, but it seemed not to displease her.

"I don't care so much for her voice, do you ?" She turned on the singer.

They discussed the entertainment and the dinner.

They were a long time about it.

The orchestra played a waltz at last, and Ethel--she had told him to call her that--put her arms on the table and leaned across to him, and though Peter knew by this time that her cheeks were painted, he didn't somehow mind it.
"What's it like up in the country where you lived ?" she wished to know.
"Hills mostly, little wooded ones, and high pastures, and the apple orchards going right up over them...." "I know," she nodded.