It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. He gave you a poison. ‘I’ve never before made love at pistol point. From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. But it don't much matter—though he's a devilish shrewd fellow, and might have helped me out of a difficulty, had any occurred.
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