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 attention is fixed on something else to speak to her, so that it will not be observed—and although he adopts the subterfuge, he despises it. Nor does the blonde woman fail to see through it. She does not relish being spoken to on the sly as it were. Nothing, however, disturbs the cheerful urbanity of the gentleman by her side. He gets out of the carriage and grasps Pembroke by the hand. He calls him "mon cher" a vulgar mode of address which Pembroke resents with a curt "Good-morning, Mr. Ahlberg," and then he lifts his hat to the lady whom he calls Madame Koller. "Why did you not come before?" she asks, "you might have known it would be dull enough."

"Don't you know everybody here?"

"Oh, yes," replied Madame Koller, sighing profoundly. "I remember all of them—and most of the men have called. Some of them are so strange. They stay all day when they come. And such queer carriages."

"And the costumes. The costumes!" adds Mr. Ahlberg on the ground.

Pembroke felt a sense of helpless indignation. He answered Mr. Ahlberg by turning his back, and completely ignoring that excessively stylish person.

"You must remember the four years' harrowing they have been through," he says to Madame Koller. "But they are so thoroughly established in their own esteem," he adds with a little malice, "that they are indifferent even to the disapproval of Madame Koller. I am glad to see you looking