"Yes, Sergeant!"
"The kind of woman that—improves with age, sir!"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Talking of—peaches, sir, I've often thought—she is—very like a peach—herself, sir."
"Very, Sergeant, but—"
"Well, sir?"
"Peaches do—not improve with age, Sergeant,—'and the peaches are—riper than ever they were,—to-night!'" The Sergeant stopped short, and stared at Bellew wide-eyed.
"Why—sir," said he very slowly, "you don't mean to say you—think as she—meant—that—?"
"But I do!" nodded Bellew. And now, just as suddenly as he had stopped, the Sergeant turned, and went on again.
"Lord!" he whispered—"Lord! Lord!"