"She has a certain naive friendliness.

Of course I don't advocate, after fifty, dressing like an Eton boy; I always think an elderly face above a turned-down collar--" "Mama," broke in Mathilde, quietly, "would you mind not talking of Mrs.
Wayne like that?
You know, she's Pete's mother." Adelaide was really surprised.
"Why, my love," she answered, "I haven't said half the things I might say.

I rather thought I was sparing your feelings.

After all, when you see her, you will admit that she _does_ dress like an Eton boy." "She didn't when I saw her," said Mr.Lanley.
Adelaide turned to her father.
"Papa, I leave it to you.

Did I say anything that should have wounded anybody's susceptibilities ?" Mr.Lanley hesitated.
"It was the tone Mathilde did not like, I think." Adelaide raised her shoulders and looked beautifully hurt.
"My tone ?" she wailed.
"It hurt me," said Mathilde, laying her little hand on her heart.
Mr.Lanley smiled at her, and then, springing up, kissed her tenderly on the forehead.