"You forget Paris."

"Paris!" said Sir Donald. "Paris is a suburb of London and New York.
Paris is no longer the city of light, but the city of pornography and
dressmakers."

"Well, I don't know exactly what pornography is--unless it's some new
process for taking snapshots. But I do know what gowns are, and I love
Paris. The Venice shops are failures and the Venice mosquitoes are
successes, and I hate Venice."

An expression of lemon-coloured amazement appeared upon Sir Donald's
face, and he glanced at Robin Pierce as if requesting the answer to a
riddle. Robin looked rather as if he were enjoying himself, but the
puzzled melancholy grew deeper on Sir Donald's face. With the air of a
man determined to reassure his mind upon some matter, however, he spoke
again.

"You visited the European capitals?" he said.

"Yes, all of them."

"Constantinople?"

"Terrible place! Dogs, dogs, nothing but dogs."

"Did you like Petersburg?"

"No, I couldn't bear it. I caught cold there."