“I don’t think your profile is so perfect as all that,” said the baroness.

“It would be surprising if it wasn’t. My mother was one of the most noted classical beauties of her day.”

“These things sometimes skip a generation, you know,” put in the baroness, with the breathless haste of one to whom repartee comes as rarely as the finding of a gold-handled umbrella.

“My dear Sophie,” said the Gräfin sweetly, “that isn’t in the least bit clever; but you do try so hard that I suppose I oughtn’t to discourage you. Tell me something: has it ever occurred to you that Elsa would do very well for Wratislav? It’s time he married somebody, and why not Elsa?”

“Elsa marry that dreadful boy!” gasped the baroness.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” observed the Gräfin.

“Elsa isn’t a beggar!”