She was the kind of absent-minded person who depended upon pins to hold her garments together, and who would put on her tiara crookedly for a drawing-room.
"Clara Greeby's a cat," said poor, worried Lady Garvington, hunting for her pocket handkerchief, which was rarely to be found.
"Has she been making love to Garvington ?" "Pooh! No woman attracts Garvington unless she can cook, or knows something about a kitchen range.

I might as well have married a soup tureen.

I'm sure I don't know why I ever did marry him," lamented the lady, staring at the changing foliage of the park trees.

"He's a pauper and a pig, my dear, although I wouldn't say so to every one.

I wish my mother hadn't insisted that I should attend cooking classes." "What on earth has that to do with it ?" "To do with what ?" asked Lady Garvington absentmindedly.