PARSON (rousing himself from a revery).—“Have you, Carry?—it will be a very pretty handkerchief.”
MRS. DALE.—“Handkerchief?—nonsense, dear. Don’t you think it would be a very happy thing for both if Jemima and Signor Riccabocca could be brought together?”
PARSON.—“Brought together!”
MRS. DALE.—“You do snap up one so, my dear; I mean if I could make a match of it.”
PARSON.—“I think Riccabocca is a match already, not only for Jemima, but yourself into the bargain.”
MRS. DALE (smiling loftily).—“Well, we shall see. Was not Jemima’s fortune about L4000?”
PARSON (dreamily, for he is relapsing fast into his interrupted revery).—“Ay—ay—I dare say.”
MRS. DALE.—“And she must have saved! I dare say it is nearly L6000 by this time; eh! Charles dear, you really are so—good gracious, what’s that!”
As Mrs. Dale made this exclamation, they had just emerged from the shrubbery into the village green.
PARSON.—“What’s what?”