"'Both'—?"
"I mean that if Maggie, always in the breach, makes it seem to him all so flourishingly to fit, Charlotte does her part not less. And her part is very large. Charlotte," Fanny declared, "works like a horse."
So there it all was, and her husband looked at her a minute across it. "And what does the Prince work like?"
She fixed him in return. "Like a Prince!" Whereupon, breaking short off, to ascend to her room, she presented her highly— decorated back—in which, in odd places, controlling the complications of its aspect, the ruby or the garnet, the turquoise and the topaz, gleamed like faint symbols of the wit that pinned together the satin patches of her argument.
He watched her as if she left him positively under the impression of her mastery of her subject; yes, as if the re
