‘Very ungentlemanly behaviour,’ thought little Mrs. Tibbs, ‘to talk in that way.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. ‘Tom Moore is my poet.’
‘And mine,’ said Mrs. Maplesone.
‘And mine,’ said Miss Julia.
‘And mine,’ added Mr. Simpson.
‘Look at his compositions,’ resumed the knocker.
‘To be sure,’ said Simpson, with confidence.
‘Look at Don Juan,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks.
‘Julia’s letter,’ suggested Miss Matilda.
‘Can anything be grander than the Fire Worshippers?’ inquired Miss Julia.