I did; told him I wanted to talk business with you.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Business? Resuming her inspection of the trinkets. This is a ’andsome thing Mr. Grimwood’s sent ’er.
Roper.
His hands in his trouser-pockets, contemplating Mrs. Upjohn desperately. Upon my soul, Ma, you’re a champion!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Now wot ’ave I done!
Roper.
Well, you might spread yourself a little over young Farncombe.
Mrs. Upjohn.