Charles. Why, ma’am, I think—I—I am decidedly of opinion—that—that—the....
Horatia. The Aerolites....
Charles. Are nothing more or less than Jacobites.
All the Ladies. Jacobites!
Horatia. Why, Sir, I always thought them a sort of stone....
Charles. Stone-fruit, true, true; I spoke without thinking. Stone-fruit, a species of—of—apricots.
Barbara. Hark, there is a knock at the door. Peep through the shutters, Ratty, and see who it is.
Charles. [Aside.] A little diversion for me. I am growing so hot. Silence to cover sense would in this case....
Horatia. ’Tis old Colonel Stumply.
Charles. [Starting up.] Colonel Stumply! I’m dished.