Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. “Hotel Ritz,” he said mechanically to the coachman. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. There was a third lady among the younger set. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock. “I want an engagement. .
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