"Fiddle-de-dee. He is an ape,—a monkey to be carried on his mother's organ. His only good quality was that you could have carried him on yours. I can tell you one thing;—there is not a woman breathing that will ever carry William Belton on hers. Whoever his wife may be, she will have to dance to his piping."
"With all my heart;—and I hope the tunes will be good."
"But I wish I could have been present to have heard what passed;—hidden, you know, behind a curtain. You won't tell me?"
"I will tell you not a word more."
"Then I will get it out from Mrs. Bunce. I'll be bound she was listening."
"Mrs. Bunce will have nothing to tell you; I do not know why you should be so curious."
"Answer me one question at least:—when it came to the last, did he want to go on with it? Was the final triumph with him or with you?"
"There was no final triumph. Such things, when they have to end, do not end triumphantly."
"And is that to be all?"
"Yes;—that is to be all."