“Well, my married sister, Mrs Morrison, used, I think, to care for Major Malpas.”
“Sorry she had such bad taste.”
This in an undertone.
“Eh?”
“Go on.”
“Well, it didn’t go on or come off, as you call it.”
“As you call it, Dicky.”
“I say, don’t talk to me as if I were a bird.”
“All right. Now then, let me finish for you: mamma married the young lady to someone else, and there is just a fag-end of the old penchant left.”
“Oh, hang it, no!”