‘Sophronia, my love,’ remonstrated Mr Lammle, becoming graver, ‘you are not serious?’
‘Alfred, my love,’ returned his wife, ‘I dare say Georgiana was not, but I am.’
‘Now this,’ said Mr Lammle, ‘shows the accidental combinations that there are in things! Could you believe, my Ownest, that I came in here with the name of an aspirant to our Georgiana on my lips?’
‘Of course I could believe, Alfred,’ said Mrs Lammle, ‘anything that you told me.’
‘You dear one! And I anything that you told me.’
How delightful those interchanges, and the looks accompanying them! Now, if the skeleton up-stairs had taken that opportunity, for instance, of calling out ‘Here I am, suffocating in the closet!’
‘I give you my honour, my dear Sophronia—’
‘And I know what that is, love,’ said she.
‘You do, my darling—that I came into the room all but uttering young Fledgeby’s name. Tell Georgiana, dearest, about young Fledgeby.’
‘Oh no, don’t! Please don’t!’ cried Miss Podsnap, putting her fingers in her ears. ‘I’d rather not.’