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``I've heard you often enough, mother, grumble at the English Sunday when we've been in London.''
``New York is neither Paris nor London.''
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``Oh, no, it's not!'' her son groaned.
``You mean, I suppose, that society here is not as brilliant? You're right, I daresay; but we belong here, and people should respect our ways when they come among us. Ellen Olenska especially: she came back to get away from the kind of life people lead in brilliant societies.''
Newland made no answer, and after a moment his mother ventured: ``I was going to put on my bonnet and ask you to take me to see cousin Louisa for a moment before dinner.'' He frowned, and she continued: ``I thought you might explain to her what you've just said: that society abroad is different . . . that people are not as particular, and that Madame Olenska may not have realised how we feel about such things. It would be, you know, dear,'' she added with an innocent adroitness, ``in Madame Olenska's interest if you did.''
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