But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. One gets drawn into things. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. Through no fault of her own. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. ’ ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire.
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