"Oh, petite mère, is that quite honest? First, you say there's something
wrong; and then, when I'm all agog to hear it, you saddle me with the
secret. That's what you call in English a sell, isn't it? A sell! What a
funny little word! I often wonder who invents the slang. Parrots pass it
along, of course, but it must take some cleverness to start it. And
isn't it curious," she went on, breathlessly, "how a new bit of slang
always fills a vacant place in the language? The minute you hear it you
know it's what you've always wanted. I suppose the reason we're obliged
to use the current phrase is because it expresses the current need. When
the hour passes, the need passes with it, and something new must be
coined to meet the new situation. I should think a most interesting book
might be written on the Psychology of Slang, and if I wasn't so busy
with other things--"

"Diane, I entreat you to answer me. Where is George?"

"Why, I must have forgotten to tell you that he went to the Jockey Club
with Monsieur de Melcourt--"

"You did tell me so; but that isn't all. Has he gone anywhere else?"

"How should I know, petite mère? Where should he go but come home?"

"Has he gone to fight a duel?"

The question surprised Diane into partially dropping her mask. For an
instant she was puzzled for an answer.

"Men who fight duels," she said, at last, "don't generally tell their
wives beforehand."