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 "You'll laugh, but never mind. It's because you're so distinguished lookingdistinguished-looking [sic]."

Miss Cread reflected. "A distinctive appearance doesn't necessarily make one dangerous. It is I, on the contrary, who should be afraid."

"I'm sure nothing could frighten you!"

"Oh, yes. Responsibility. You see, this is my first post. I'm quite inexperienced. I do hope Mr. Windrom made that clear."

"Oh, experience! Why, you're simply swimming in it,—in the kind that matters to me at this moment. I mean your life, your surroundings, all the things that decided Mr. Windrom in his selection of you as a companion, have done something for you, have made you the person who—bowled me over when I entered this room. My husband is brimming over with the same,—oh, call it genuineness. Like sterling silver spoons. I don't know whether I'm sterling or not, but I do know I need polishing. . . . It may be entirely a matter of birth. Papa and I haven't a crumb of birth, so far as I know,—though I have a musty old aunt who swears we have. She endows convents, and her idea of a grand pedigree would be to have descended from a line of saints, I imagine. . . . For my part I have no pretensions whatever, not one, any more than poor Papa. He thinks it rather a pity to be born at all, though he's forever helping people get born. . . . I was rash enough to dive into marriage without holding my breath, and got a mouthful of water. Sometimes I