"Jimmy's one to talk. That head of his is solid rock." Mary hugged Delia. "I'm glad though. If I'd of tried that, I'd be passed out on the floor."
The problem of a background was important. Of course, just saying that she was Cordelia Slater would have been enough in some cercles, but Delia didn't really know the whole of that. 'Sides, tonight was not a night to be Slater's girls. Mary supposed she could use the last name Fisher if it came to it, but she wasn't keen on that either. "I was just thinkin' bout that bit... You know, in Paris ladies wear masks when they go out sometimes so nobody can tell who they are an' no scandals come up." And so no angry fathers or brothers could have any flunkies come running up and ruin a perfectly fun night.
"Maybe we should follow their example. Nobody asks too many questions about tragic French girls anymore, they've always got terrible stories of families getting their heads chopped off." Mary shuddered as she thought of Evonne and Yves, and of Melie. "Just a couple of bored aristo girls gambling and winning..."
Mary giggled. "I think we should get a townhouse together. Save more money for gowns and carriages that way. And we know we won't bring home any women we don't want about."