"Far be it from me to contradict everybody. But for me New York has the
ideal climate. Isn't it the best of any great city in the world? You see,
we have the air of the sea in our streets. And when the sun shines, which
it does more days in the year than in any other great city, the effect is
like champagne--or rather, like the effect champagne looks as if it ought
to have."

"I hate champagne," said Mrs. Carnarvon. "Marian, you must not drink it;
you know you mustn't." This to Miss Trevor who was lifting the glass to her
lips. She drank a little of the champagne, then set the glass down slowly.

"What you said made me want to drink it," she said to Howard. "I was glad
to hear your lecture on the weather. I had never thought of it before, but
New York really has a fine climate. And only this afternoon I let that
stupid Englishman--Plymouth--you've met him? No?--Well, at any rate, he was
denouncing our climate and for the moment I forgot about London."

"Frightful there, isn't it, after October and until May?"

"Yes, and the air is usually stale even in the late spring. When it's warm,
it's sticky. And when it's cold, it's raw."

"You are a New Yorker?"

"Yes," said Miss Trevor faintly, and for an instant showing surprise at his
ignorance. "That is, I spend part of the winter here--like all New
Yorkers."

"All?"