‘Where’s the pudding?’ said Tom. For he was cutting his jokes, Tom was.
‘Where!’ she answered, holding it up with both hands. ‘Look at it!’
‘That a pudding!’ said Tom.
‘It will be, you stupid fellow, when it’s covered in,’ returned his sister. Tom still pretending to look incredulous, she gave him a tap on the head with the rolling-pin, and still laughing merrily, had returned to the composition of the top crust, when she started and turned very red. Tom started, too, for following her eyes, he saw John Westlock in the room.
‘Why, my goodness, John! How did you come in?’
‘I beg pardon,’ said John—’ your sister’s pardon especially—but I met an old lady at the street door, who requested me to enter here; and as you didn’t hear me knock, and the door was open, I made bold to do so. I hardly know,’ said John, with a smile, ‘why any of us should be disconcerted at my having accidentally intruded upon such an agreeable domestic occupation, so very agreeably and skillfully pursued; but I must confess that I am. Tom, will you kindly come to my relief?’
[Original]
‘Mr John Westlock,’ said Tom. ‘My sister.’
‘I hope that, as the sister of so old a friend,’ said John, laughing ‘you will have the goodness to detach your first impressions of me from my unfortunate entrance.’