'I shouldn't wonder,' he replies, with a cough. 'Who wouldn't be?'
'Yes; but not in that way.'
'Not in what way, mother?'
'You drive me out of all patience, Jim. As if you couldn't understand--but you men are so blind!'
'And you women are so knowing!' retorts Jim Naldret, in a tone made slightly acid because he is groping about for the towel, and cannot find it. 'Where is the towel, mother? That's Bessie's step, I know. Come and kiss me, my girl.'
'There!' exclaims Bessie, who has just entered the room, standing before him with an air of comical remonstrance, with patches of soapsuds on her nose and face, 'you've made my face all wet.'
'Father never will wash the soap off his skin before he dries it,' says Mrs. Naldret, wiping Bessie's face with her apron.
'Never mind, Bessie,' says Mr. Naldret, rubbing himself hot; 'your face'll stand it better than some I've seen. I can't wash the colour out of your cheeks.'
Bessie laughs, and asks him how does he know? and says there is a sort of paint that women use that defies water. While Mrs. Naldret tells him not to be satirical, remarking that all women have their little weaknesses.
'Weaknesses!' echoes Mr. Naldret, digging into the corners of his eyes viciously. 'It's imposition, that's what it is!'