"That means," said he, "you may not want my friendship."

"Obviously," replied she. And she rose and put out her hand.

"Don't go yet," cried he. "We are just beginning to get
acquainted. The other day I misjudged you. I thought you
insignificant, not worth while."

She slid her hand into her ermine muff. She gave him an icy look,
not contemptuous but oblivious, and turned away. He stared after
her. "By Jove!" thought he, "THERE'S the real thing. There's a
true aristocrat." And he frankly paid aristocracy in thought the
tribute he would with any amount of fuming and spluttering have
denied it in word. "Aristocracy does mean something," reflected
he. "There must be substance to what can make ME feel quite put
down."

When he saw Arkwright he said patronizingly: "I like that little
friend of yours--that Miss What's-her-name."

Grant suspected from his tone that this forgetfulness was an
affectation. "You know very well what her name is," said he
irritably. "What a cheap affectation."

Josh countered and returned magnificently: "I remember her face
perfectly," said he. "One shares one's name with a great many
people, so it's unimportant. But one's face is one's own. I
remember her face very well indeed--and that gorgeous figure of
hers."