You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. Even though I knew you’d no one else to care. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol. Not Trodger. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused.
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