“One of the most sensible women I have ever met,” commented William Clodd. “Lucky man, whoever he is. Half wish I’d thought of it myself.”
“I am not saying that he isn’t,” retorted Miss Fossett. “It isn’t him I’m worrying about.”
“I preesume you mean ‘he,’” suggested the Wee Laddie. “The verb ‘to be’—”
“For goodness’ sake,” suggested Miss Fossett to Tommy, “give that man something to eat or drink. That’s the worst of people who take up grammar late in life. Like all converts, they become fanatical.”
“She’s a ripping good sort, is Mary Ramsbotham,” exclaimed Grindley junior, printer and publisher of Good Humour. “The marvel to me is that no man hitherto has ever had the sense to want her.”
“Oh, you men!” cried Miss Fossett. “A pretty face and an empty head is all you want.”
“Must they always go together?” laughed Mrs. Grindley junior, née Helvetia Appleyard.
“Exceptions prove the rule,” grunted Miss Fossett.
“What a happy saying that is,” smiled Mrs. Grindley junior. “I wonder sometimes how conversation was ever carried on before it was invented.”
“De man who would fall in love wid our dear frent Mary,” thought Dr. Smith, “he must be quite egsceptional.”