Who's the blond girl with him ?" "Hope springs eternal in the human beast," observed Malcourt.

"Hope is a bird, Porty, old chap--" "Hope is a squab," growled Portlaw, swallowing vast quantities of claret, "all squashy and full of pin-feathers.

That's what hope is.

It needs a thorough roasting, and it's getting it." "Exquisite metaphor," mused Malcourt, gazing affably at the rather blond girl who crumbled her bread and looked occasionally and blankly at him, occasionally and affectionately at the French count, her escort, who was consuming lobster with characteristic Gallic thoroughness and abandon.
"The world," quoted Malcourt, "is so full of a number of things.

You're one of 'em, Portlaw; I'm several....