“MY LUCY!!!”
“Nonsense, child.”
“No, no, mamma, it is not. He owned it plump.”
“Are you quite sure, love?”
“Upon my honor.”
“What did they say next?”
“Oh, next papa began to talk his fine words that I don't know what the meaning of them is one bit. But Mr. Dodd, he could make them out, I suppose, for he said, 'So, then, the upshot is—' There, now, what is upshot? I don't know. How stupid grown-up people are; they keep using words that one doesn't know the meaning of.”
“Never mind, love! tell me. What came after upshot?” said Mrs. Bazalgette, soothingly, with great apparent calmness and flashing eye.
“How kind you are to-day, mamma! That is twice you have called me love, and three times dear; only think. I should love you if you were always so kind, and your cheeks as red as they are now.”
“Never mind my cheeks. What did Mr. Dodd say? Try and remember—come—'The upshot was—'”