"Very kind o' you, sir," she said, with a courtesy.
"Kind, of course, yes, very kind," he echoed.
"Very 'ealthy, indeed, sir, I'm thankful to say."
"Well, yes, they do look well—for town brats, you know—plump and rosy—hang 'em, little skins of sweet red wine; egad! enough to make a fellow turn vampire, as I said. Give me a little more sherry—thank you, ma'am. Any place near here where they sell ice?"
"Yes, sir, there's Mr. Candy's hice-store, in Love Lane, sir."
"You must arrange to get me a pound, or so, every day at twelve o'clock, broken up in lumps, like sugar, and keep it in a cold cellar; do you mind, ma'am?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"How old are you, ma'am? Well, no, you need not mind—hardly a fair question; a steady woman—a lady who has seen the world—something of it, hey?" said he; "so have I—I'm a steady old fellow, egad!—you must give me a latch-key, ma'am."
"Yes, sir."
"Some ten or twelve years will see us out; curious thing life, ma'am, eh? ha, ha, ha!—Sparkling cup, ma'am, while it lasts—sometimes; pity the flask has so few glasses, and is flat so soon; isn't it so, ma'am?"