“Oh! oh!—Denville, are you going to allow this insult to my face—from such a woman as that?” cried Lady Drelincourt.
“Hush, ladies! Pray—pray!” cried Denville.
“Hold your tongue and come away, old lady,” said Barclay, in a croaking whisper.
“I won’t, Jo-si-ah; not till she pays me my four guineas, I declare,” cried Mrs Barclay aloud. “She’s been doing nothing but cheat and rook ever since I sat down to play.”
“Sir Matthew Bray, my carriage.”
“And gone on shameful, and pretending it was all mistakes. I declare it’s abominable.”
“Ladies—ladies!”
“Will you be quiet, old girl? Hold your tongue.”
“I will not, Josiah,” cried Mrs Barclay, who, like many good-tempered, amiable women, took a great deal to make her angry, but when she was really excited, was not to be suppressed. “What I say is—”
“Oh—oh—oh—oh!”