“I don't think,” said Tony, with a slow, deliberate utterance,—“I don't think that he has made me a suit—suit—suitable apology for what he said,—eh, Skeff?”
“Be quiet, will you?” muttered the other.
“Kitty had ten thousand pounds of her own.”
“Not sixpence.”
“I tell you she had.”
“Grant it. What is ten thousand pounds?” lisped out a little pink-cheeked fellow, who had a hundred and eighty per annum at the Board of Trade. “If you are economical, you may get two years out of it.”
“If I thought,” growled out Tony into Skeff's ear, “that he meant it for insolence, I'd punch his head, curls and all.”
“Will you just be quiet?” said Skeff, again.
“I 'd have married Kitty myself,” said pink cheeks, “if I thought she had ten thousand.”
“And I 'd have gone on a visit to you,” said Mayfair, “and we 'd have played billiards, the French game, every evening.”