"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. “Did it seem like I was in pain to you?” She smirked. "Well, I'm sure Winifred could never have loved you as well as I do," said Mrs. Suddenly he stopped short. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning.
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