“I heard the subject of one of them,” resumed the other, who was far too occupied with his theme to bestow a thought upon a sarcasm. “There's a lady in love with with with her Mam-mam-mam—”
“Her mamma,” suggested the Pole.
“No, it is n't her mamma; it's her Mam-ame-ameluke her Mameluke slave; and he, who is a native prince, with a great many wives of his own—”
“Oh, for shame, Scroope, you forget Martha is here,” said Mrs. Ricketts, who was always ready to suppress the bore by a call to order on the score of morals.
“It isn't wrong, I assure you; just hear me out; let me only explain—”
“There, pray don't insist, I beg you,” said Mrs. Ricketts, with a regal wave of her hand.
“Why, it's Miss Dalton is to play it, Jekyl says,” cried Purvis, in a tone of most imploring cadence.
“And who may Miss Dalton be?” asked Mrs. Ricketts.
“She is the niece no, she's the aunt or rather her father is aunt to to—”
“He may be an old lady, sir; but, surely—”