It would be impossible to describe the accuracy with which Tommy describes Bridget's tone and manner.
"Oh! I daresay," says Mr. Dysart. "Me mother's daughter must be a truly enthralling person."
"I think Tommy ought to be educated for the stage," says Joyce in a little whisper.
"He'll certainly make his mark wherever he goes," says Dysart, laughing. "Tommy," after a careful examination of Monkton, Junior's, seraphic countenance, "don't you think you ought to take your sister on to the Court?"
"So I will," says Tommy, "in a minute or two." He has climbed into Joyce's lap, and is now sitting on her with his arms round her neck. To make love to a young woman and to induce her to marry you with a barnacle of this sort hanging round her suggests difficulties. Mr. Dysart waits. "All things come to those who wait," says a wily old proverb. But Dysart proves this proverb a swindle.
"Now, Tommy," says he, "the two minutes are up."
"I don't care," says Tommy. "I'm tired, and Bridgie said I needn't hurry."
"The charms of Mr. Mickey Daly are no doubt great," says Dysart, mildly, "yet I think Bridget must by this time be aware that she wasn't sent out by your mother to tattle to him, but to take you and your sister to play with Bertie. Here, Tommy," decisively, "get off your aunt's lap and run away."
"But why?" demands Tommy, aggressively. "What harm am I doing?"
"You are tiring your aunt, for one thing."