"It's a capital cake," says Mr. Kelly, pensively, who has been eating steadily since the first bite. "After all, give me a good sweet, home-made cake like this! Those bought ones aren't to be named in the same day with it. There is something so light and wholesome about a cake like this."
"Wholesome!" doubtfully: "I don't know about that. What I like about it is that it is hot and spongy. But, look here, you haven't yet said what we are to do with it."
"I think we are doing uncommonly well with it," says Kelly, breaking off another piece.
"But what are we to do with the remains, provided we leave any, which at present seems doubtful?"
"Keep, them, of course. You ought to, considering she gave it you whole as a present."
"You are right: no one shall touch a crumb of it save you and me," says Mr. Desmond, as though inspired. "Let us smuggle it up to my room and keep it there till it is finished."
"I feel as if I was at school again with a plum-cake and a chum," says Mr. Kelly.
"Well, come and follow me up with it now, and distract my uncle's attention if we meet him."
"To my room or yours?" insinuatingly.
"To mine," firmly.