Matt. Forty-eight miles one glorious May night! I let her beat me! God bless her! I let her beat me! And just as the sun rose we caught sight of Salisbury spire.
Lucas. Sounds rather jolly!
Matt. Jolly? And the bacon and eggs we got through for breakfast! Jolly? It was romance! It was poetry! Ah! Lu, my boy, you may say what you like, there's nothing like it on this side heaven. I told you about Mrs. Satterwaite dressing up as a widow and selling her husband?
Lucas. No?
Matt. Well, I bet the little hussy a fiver. Oh, Satterwaite richly deserved all he got—I can see Satterwaite's face now, and hers, as she stepped out of the cupboard, with the wickedest twinkle in the wickedest black eye! Ho! Ho! Heigho! Sad! Sad!! Sad!!!—Sad! Sad!! Sad!!! Come, come, Lucas! This won't do! This will never do! Now to get back to this business of yours——
Lucas. Well——
Matt. When I was your guardian I let you have a pretty good fling?
Lucas. You did!
Matt. The pace was rather scorching?
Lucas. Rather!