My girls.
Quex.
Ha, ha, ha! And what terrible pronouncement has a-hundred-and-eighty-five to pass upon me?
Seven-and-thirty, you look—not a day older; that's what we say. There, dip your fingers in that, do!
Quex.
Into this?
Sophy.
[Thrusting his fingers into the bowl.] Baby! [The water splashes over her dress and his coat.] Oh!
Quex.