“To many fishes!”
Christie prided herself on her English, which she had culled from books.
Then he made her drink from the cup, and was ostentatious in putting his lips to the same part of the brim.
Then she left the table, and inspected all things.
She came to his drawers, opened one, and was horror-struck.
There were coats and trousers, with their limbs interchangeably intertwined, waistcoats, shirts, and cigars, hurled into chaos.
She instantly took the drawer bodily out, brought it, leaned it against the tea-table, pointed silently into it, with an air of majestic reproach, and awaited the result.
“I can find whatever I want,” said the unblushing bachelor, “except money.”
“Siller does na bide wi' slovens! hae ye often siccan a gale o' wind in your drawer?”
“Every day! Speak English!”