We Britons do not usually allow names to disguise facts.

A concert--call it even a 'sacred' concert--in the Orange Room, amid those distinctly--ah--pagan adornments! I can scarcely even term it the thin end of the wedge, so clearly can I see it paving the way for other questionable indulgences.

I don't doubt your good intentions, Dorothea, but you cannot, as a woman, be expected to understand how easily the best intentions may convert Axcester, with its French community, into a veritable hot-bed of vice.

And, by-the-by, you might tell Morrish I shall want the horse again in half-an-hour's time." Dorothea left the room on her errand.

As she closed the door Narcissus looked up from his toast.
"Hot-bed of fiddlesticks!" said he.
"I--ah--beg your pardon ?" Endymion, in the act of seating himself at table, paused to stare.
"Hot-bed of fiddlesticks!" repeated Narcissus.