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Updated: May 16, 2025
"I should be so glad to think that the dear lady was happy." "So should I," added Miss Fossett drily. "One of the most sensible women I have ever met," commented William Clodd. "Lucky man, whoever he is. Half wish I'd thought of it myself." "I am not saying that he isn't," retorted Miss Fossett. "It isn't him I'm worrying about." "I preesume you mean 'he," suggested the Wee Laddie.
"The verb 'to be' " "For goodness' sake," suggested Miss Fossett to Tommy, "give that man something to eat or drink. That's the worst of people who take up grammar late in life. Like all converts, they become fanatical." "She's a ripping good sort, is Mary Ramsbotham," exclaimed Grindley junior, printer and publisher of Good Humour.
I've never had so much as a hint from her until I received this absurd scrawl an hour ago." Miss Fossett produced from her bag a letter written in pencil. "There can be no harm in your hearing it," was Miss Fossett's excuse; "it will give you an idea of the state of the poor thing's mind." The tea-drinkers left their cups and gathered round her.
It is so wonderful to me that he should care for me he who could have half the women in London at his feet." "Yes, he's the type that would attract them, I daresay," agreed Susan Fossett. "But are you quite sure that he does? care for you, I mean." "My dear," returned Miss Ramsbotham, "you remember Rochefoucauld's definition.
Susan Fossett, her bosom friend, brought the strange tidings to Bohemia one foggy November afternoon, her opportunity being a tea-party given by Peter Hope to commemorate the birthday of his adopted daughter and sub- editor, Jane Helen, commonly called Tommy.
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