“A quarter of a million, I’m told, Mr. Georgie,” said she, “and a house in Grosvenor Square, eh?”
Before Georgie could reply, Mrs. Antrobus’s two daughters, Piggy and Goosie came bounding up hand in hand. Piggy and Goosie never walked like other people: they skipped and gambolled to show how girlish an age is thirty-four and thirty-five.
“Oh stop, Mr. Georgie,” said Piggy. “Let us all hear. And are the pearls worth a Queen’s ransom?”
“Silly thing,” said Goosie. “I don’t believe in the pearls.”
“Well, I don’t believe in Grosvenor Square,” said Goosie. “So silly yourself!”
When this ebullition of high spirits had subsided, and Piggy had slapped Goosie on the back of her hands, they both said “Hush!” simultaneously.
“Well, I can’t say about the pearls,” said Georgie.
“Eh, what can’t you say?” said Mrs. Antrobus.
“About the pearls,” said Georgie, addressing himself to the end of Mrs. Antrobus’s trumpet. It was like the trunk of a very short elephant, and she waved it about as if asking for a bun.
“About the pearls, mamma,” screamed Goosie and Piggy together. “Don’t interrupt Mr. Georgie.”