Chilvern. I'm always unlucky in that way. Whenever I go to Church there's always a collection.
Captain Byrton. Yes. You kept the man waiting at the pew door for at least two minutes, while you fumbled in all your pockets. Anyone have any cheese?
Chilvern. I knew I'd got a shilling somewhere—but it was a fourpenny-bit after all.
Miss Medford. How very disturbing it must be for the clergyman, when a child persists in crying at intervals all through the sermon.
Mrs. Frimmely. Yes, little things like that oughtn't to be brought to church; at least, not to sit out sermons.
Boodels (with some vague recollection of the baptismal service). But you forget, Mrs. Frimmely, godfathers and godmothers promise to bring children to hear sermons. That's one of the three things they vow in the child's name.
Mrs. Frimmely. Really? (seeing no help for it short of a second reformation, or disestablishment). Well it's a great pity.
Milburd (to Byrton). I see by the Field to-day, that Lysander is going up for the Derby.
Byrton. He's nowhere. Corkscrew's at a hundred to fifteen.
Mrs. Frimmely. I was right last year. Wasn't I? (To her husband.)