“To chaff, you were going to say,” suggested Vane, waggishly.
“No, certainly not, that’s a slang phrase such as is not usual among ladies, nor ever spoken at Kincton,” retorted the old lady.
“Well, it is though, whenever I’m here,” he replied agreeably. “But I’ll really tell you all I can: there’s nothing very remarkable in his appearance; he’s rather tall, very light: he has light hair, blue eyes, pretty good bat.”
“What’s that?” demanded the elder lady.
“He handles the willow pretty well, and would treat you to a tolerably straight, well pitched, slow underhand.”
“I think you intimated that you were about making yourself intelligible?” interposed Mrs. Kincton Knox.
“And don’t you understand me?” inquired Vane Trevor of Miss Clara.
“Yes, I think it’s cricket, aint it?” she replied.
“Well, you see I was intelligible; yes, cricket, of course,” replied Vane.
“I can’t say, I’m sure, where Miss Kincton Knox learned those phrases; it certainly was not in this drawing-room,” observed her mamma, with a gloomy severity.