The girl stepped into the carriage, the door shut with the incisive bang peculiar to well-made carriages of this sort, and in a few moments the coachman was speeding the horses rapidly up one of the boulevards.
"You are always doing some queer thing or other, Felicia," said the older girl as the carriage whirled on past the great residences already brilliantly lighted.
"Am I?
What have I done that is queer now, Rose ?" asked the other, looking up suddenly and turning her head towards her sister.
"Oh, giving those violets to that boy! He looked as if he needed a good hot supper more than a bunch of violets.

It's a wonder you didn't invite him home with us.

I shouldn't have been surprised if you had.

You are always doing such queer things." "Would it be queer to invite a boy like that to come to the house and get a hot supper ?" Felicia asked the question softly and almost as if she were alone.
"'Queer' isn't just the word, of course," replied Rose indifferently.

"It would be what Madam Blanc calls 'outre.' Decidedly.