MRS. C. Come here, Marmy! you don’t mind me calling you Marmy? Marmaduke is such a mouthful, whereas, Marmy is——
WOOD. Mrs. Carver, you’re at liberty to Marmy me as much as you think proper, but allow me to observe, that having already paid two visits to the——
MRS. C. Yes, yes! now, listen to me! in a word, I am not the woman you take me for!
WOOD. Eh? you’re not Mother Woodcock?—I mean, Mrs. Woodcock’s mother?
MRS. C. Pshaw! I don’t mean that! in short, Marmy, you have repeatedly said to yourself—don’t deny it—“What a regular wet blanket I shall have for a mother-in-law.”
WOOD. No, no! I solemnly protest that—(aside)—I have said so no end of times!
MRS. C. You are mistaken, Marmy! that austerity of deportment—that rigidity of manner was all assumed. Listen! You see this brooch? (pointing to one in her dress) It contains the portrait of the late Lieutenant-Colonel Carver, done in oil.
WOOD. Carver done in oil? Yes!
MRS. C. He was a very handsome man.
WOOD. Was he? You’re quite right to mention it.