“You are fortunate,” continued Mrs. Woffington, not caring what she said; “it is so difficult to make execution keep pace with conception.”
“Yes, ma'am;” and he painted on.
“You are satisfied with it?”
“Anything but, ma'am;” and he painted on.
“Cheerful soul!—then I presume it is like?”
“Not a bit, ma'am;” and he painted on.
Mrs. Woffington stretched.
“You can't yawn, ma'am—you can't yawn.”
“Oh, yes, I can. You are such good company;” and she stretched again.
“I was just about to catch the turn of the lip,” remonstrated Triplet.