mr. george booth. Don't be rude.
edward. [his anger vanishing.] I beg your pardon.
mr. george booth. You're excited. Take time to think of it. I'm reasonable.
edward. [his sense of humour returning.] Most! Most! [There is a knock at the door.] Come in. Come in.
honor intrudes an apologetic head.
honor. Am I interrupting business? I'm so sorry.
edward. [crowing in a mirthless enjoyment of his joke.] No! Business is over . . quite over. Come in, Honor.
honor puts on the table a market basket bulging with little paper parcels, and, oblivious to mr. booth's distracted face, tries to fix his attention.
honor. I thought, dear Mr. Booth, perhaps you wouldn't mind carrying round this basket of things yourself. It's so very damp underfoot that I don't want to send one of the maids out to-night if I can possibly avoid it . . and if one doesn't get Christmas presents the very first thing on Christmas morning quite half the pleasure in them is lost, don't you think?
mr. george booth. Yes . . yes.