"Why, that a pretty silver-grey satin mantle would set off your figure so well, that—"
"Oh, John!"
"That, though quarter-day is near at hand, I think you ought to have one."
"Really, Jackey."
"Yes, my dear."
"What a man you are. Ah, Jackey, after all, though we have, like all people, our little tiffs and wiffs and sniffs—after all, I say it, perhaps, that should not say it, you are a dear, good, obliging—"
"Don't mention it."
"Yes, but—"
"No, don't. By-the-bye, do you know, Susey, that I begin to have my suspicions—mind, I may be wrong, but I begin to have my suspicions, do you know, that our attic lodger is, after all, no better than he should be."
"Gracious!"