“Well,” said Editha, not wishing to offend him, “you see, you pronounce your words so very strangely.”
“It’s all a matter o’ taste,” interrupted the burglar. “Oxford an’ Cambridge ’as different vocabillaries.”
“Did you go to Oxford?” asked Editha politely.
“No,” said he, “nor yet to Cambridge.”
Then he laughed again, and seemed to be quite enjoying himself as he made some forks and spoons up into a bundle. “I ’ope there haint no plated stuff ’ere,” he said. “Plate’s wulgar, an’ I ’ope yer parents haint wulgar, cos that’d be settin’ yer a werry bad example an’ sp’ilin’ yer morals.”
“I am sure papa and mamma are not vulgar,” said Editha.
The burglar opened another drawer, and chuckled again, and this suggested to Editha’s mind another question.
“Is your business a good one?” she suddenly inquired of him.
“It’s curious that you should know just where to look for things,” said Editha.