"Bless me, what a horrid looking fellow! I swear by my courage and honour I never saw such a face. Ah, my charmer! Who was that left your charming presence just now?"
"Some one who came for a pie."
"'Pon honour, he's enough to poison all the pies! Oh, you beauty, yo—ou—ou—ou—"
The gallant's mouth was so full of a veal pie that he had stuffed into it that for some few moments he could not produce an intelligible sound. When he had recovered, he walked into the parlour and sat down, saying—
"Now, Mrs. Lovett, here am I, 'pon honour, your humble servant, and stop my breath if I'd say as much to the commander-in-chief. When's the happy day to be?"
"Do you really love me?"
"Do I love you? Do I love fighting? Do I love honour—glory? Do I love eating and drinking? Do I love myself?"
"Ah, Major Bounce, you military men are so gallant."
"'Pon honour we are. General Cavendish used to say to me—'Bounce,' says he, 'if you don't make your fortune by war, which you ought to do, Bounce, 'pon honour, you will make it by love.' 'General,' says I—now I was always ready for a smart answer, Mrs. Lovett—so 'General,' says I, 'the same to you!'"
"Very smart."