"Lead me to a bus!" cried Quin. "I want to ride on top of it where the
wind can blow through my whiskers. My head feels like a joss-house!"
"Oh, but you were funny!" cried Eleanor. "I wish you could have seen your
face when all those women swarmed around you. I was afraid you were going
to jump out of the window! Did you ever feel anything so hot and stuffy
as that room? And weren't they all silly and make-believe?"
Quin gave a mighty sigh of relief at being out of it.
"Is this the sort of thing you get let in for often?" he inquired,
aghast.
"Oftener than I like. You see, all those people are Papa Claude's old
friends, and he's been having a lovely time showing me off as he showed
you off to-night."
"But you surely don't _like_ it?"
"Of course I don't. And they know it. They are already calling me a prig,
and poking fun at me for not smoking and for not liking to have my hands
patted and my cheeks pinched. Isn't it funny, Quin? At home I was always
miserable because there were too many barriers; I wanted to tear them all
down. Here, where there aren't any, I find myself building them up at
every turn, and getting furious when people climb over them.
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