Mrs Lammle bestowed a sweet and loving smile upon her friend, which Miss Podsnap returned as she best could. They sat at lunch in Mrs Lammle’s own boudoir.
‘And so, dearest Georgiana, Alfred is like your notion of a lover?’
‘I don’t say that, Sophronia,’ Georgiana replied, beginning to conceal her elbows. ‘I haven’t any notion of a lover. The dreadful wretches that ma brings up at places to torment me, are not lovers. I only mean that Mr—’
‘Again, dearest Georgiana?’
‘That Alfred—’
‘Sounds much better, darling.’
‘—Loves you so. He always treats you with such delicate gallantry and attention. Now, don’t he?’
‘Truly, my dear,’ said Mrs Lammle, with a rather singular expression crossing her face. ‘I believe that he loves me, fully as much as I love him.’
‘Oh, what happiness!’ exclaimed Miss Podsnap.
‘But do you know, my Georgiana,’ Mrs Lammle resumed presently, ‘that there is something suspicious in your enthusiastic sympathy with Alfred’s tenderness?’