what a terrible mess the cow and the squirrel will make."

Edgar came up to them.

"Will you give me the pleasure of a dance?"

"I should love to."

Virginia's apricot had become a strand in the pattern of the ball-room.

A parma violet lady settled on Matthew like a fly.

"I can't think how you have anything left to say to Virginia," she
remarked disagreeably. "But I suppose you simply make love to her."

"It is not simple at all."

"Let us go and sit somewhere," Edgar was saying, and they went into
another room.

All of our real indiscretions in life come in the form of
generalisations. A name is a warning, and we really give ourselves away
in abstract philosophisings applied by an intelligent companion to the
particular.

"Why should we accept ready-made standards?" Edgar said. "None of the
great governing forces of life can fit into a ditch of conventions."

"No."