“Sweet? Mr. Bumble,” inquired the matron, taking up the sugar-basin.
“Very sweet, indeed, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble. He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this; and if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that beadle at that moment.
The tea was made, and handed in silence. Mr. Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendour of his shorts, began to eat and drink; varying these amusements occasionally by fetching a deep sigh, which, however, had no injurious effect upon his appetite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facilitate his operations in the tea and toast department.
“You have a cat, ma’am, I see,” said Mr. Bumble, glancing at one, who, in the centre of her family, was basking before the fire; “and kittens too, I declare!”
“I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can’t think,” replied the matron. “They’re so happy, so frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are quite companions for me.”
“Very nice animals, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, approvingly; “so very domestic.”
“Oh, yes!” rejoined the matron, with enthusiasm; “so fond of their home too, that it’s quite a pleasure, I’m sure.”
“Mrs. Corney, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and marking the time with his teaspoon, “I mean to say this, ma’am, that any cat or kitten that could live with you, ma’am, and not be fond of its home, must be a ass, ma’am.”
“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” remonstrated Mrs. Corney.
“It’s no use disguising facts, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble, slowly flourishing the teaspoon with a kind of amorous dignity that made him doubly impressive; “I would drown it myself with pleasure.”