We must take the merino for granted until she steps out
of the astrakhan. She is dressed up to the nines, there is no doubt
about it. Yes, but is her face less homely? Above all, has she style?
The answer is in a stout affirmative. Ask Kenneth. He knows. Many a time
he has had to go behind a door to roar hilariously at the old lady. He
has thought of her as a lark to tell his mates about by and by; but for
some reason that he cannot fathom, he knows now that he will never do
that.
MRS. DOWEY. 'Kenneth,' affecting surprise, 'we have visitors!'
DOWEY. 'Your servant, ladies.'
He is no longer mud-caked and dour. A very smart figure is this Private
Dowey, and he winks engagingly at the visitors, like one who knows that
for jolly company you cannot easily beat charwomen. The pleasantries
that he and they have exchanged this week! The sauce he has given them.
The wit of Mrs. Mickleham's retorts. The badinage of Mrs. Twymley. The
neat giggles of the Haggerty Woman. There has been nothing like it since
you took the countess in to dinner.
MRS. TWYMLEY. 'We should apologise.
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