"Well, since Viscount Merivale came with his two gentlemen."
"His two what, mam? Meaning who, mam?"
"Lud, Sergeant, his gentlemen for sure, Mr. Arthur and Mr. Charles—so polite, so witty and they never swear!" The Sergeant snorted. "One can never be dull in their company. Mr. Charles has such a flow of talk and Mr. Arthur is a perfect mine of anecdote, ha'n't you noticed?"
"Why no, mam. The only mines as I'm acquainted with is the kind that explodes."
"But indeed, Sergeant, everything seems changing for the better—take his honour the Major, see how young he looks in his fine things—aye, as young as his nephew and handsomer. And now 'tis your turn to change——"
"I ain't given to change, mam."
"A frill to your shirt, say, and your wig powdered——"
"Frills, mam—never! And I haven't powdered my wig since we quit soldiering, why should I? What's a man of forty-three want to go a-powdering of his wig for? Frills, mam? Powder, mam? Now what I say to that is——"
"Ha' done, Sergeant!"
"Very good, mam! Only I leave frills and powder and such to young fly-b'-nights——"