When we give a guinea for a stall at the opera we think that we pay a large sum; but we are fairly sure of having our music.
When you go to Copperhouse Cross you are by no means sure of your opera.
Why is it that when men and women congregate, though the men may beat the women in numbers by ten to one, and though they certainly speak the louder, the concrete sound that meets the ears of any outside listener is always a sound of women's voices?
At Copperhouse Cross almost every one was talking, but the feeling left upon the senses was that of an amalgam of feminine laughter, feminine affectation, and feminine eagerness.

Perhaps at Copperhouse Cross the determined perseverance with which Lady Gertrude Fitzaskerley addressed herself to Lord Chiltern, to Cox the huntsman, to the two whips, and at last to Mr.Spooner, may have specially led to the remark on this occasion.

Lady Chiltern was very short with her, not loving Lady Gertrude.

Cox bestowed upon her two "my lady's," and then turned from her to some peccant hound.

But Spooner was partly gratified, and partly incapable, and underwent a long course of questions about the Duke and the poisoning.