“Once for all, Rosa, will you uncover that ridiculous little head of yours and give me a welcome?”
The apron is pulled off the childish head, as its wearer replies: “You’re very welcome, Eddy. There! I’m sure that’s nice. Shake hands. No, I can’t kiss you, because I’ve got an acidulated drop in my mouth.”
“Are you at all glad to see me, Pussy?”
“O, yes, I’m dreadfully glad.—Go and sit down.—Miss Twinkleton.”
It is the custom of that excellent lady when these visits occur, to appear every three minutes, either in her own person or in that of Mrs. Tisher, and lay an offering on the shrine of Propriety by affecting to look for some desiderated article. On the present occasion Miss Twinkleton, gracefully gliding in and out, says in passing: “How do you do, Mr. Drood? Very glad indeed to have the pleasure. Pray excuse me. Tweezers. Thank you!”
“I got the gloves last evening, Eddy, and I like them very much. They are beauties.”
“Well, that’s something,” the affianced replies, half grumbling. “The smallest encouragement thankfully received. And how did you pass your birthday, Pussy?”
“Delightfully! Everybody gave me a present. And we had a feast. And we had a ball at night.”
“A feast and a ball, eh? These occasions seem to go off tolerably well without me, Pussy.”
“De-lightfully!” cries Rosa, in a quite spontaneous manner, and without the least pretence of reserve.