"Meaning you don't think I'm in any danger of getting scorched, carrying on with you?"
"Worse luck!"
"Dobbin: have you been deceiving me, aren't you the least bit inflammable, after all?"
"You know jolly well I took fire years ago and have never since managed to get the conflagration under control. Isn't ladylike to put the bellows to flames you don't mean to quench."
"How appallingly technical! But you do sputter so entertainingly, Dobbin—burning under forced draught, I presume you'd say, with your passion for riding a metaphor till it flounders—I'm not sure I'd care to see you quenched; I hate to think of you being put out with me."
"You play with words precisely as you play with me."
"You think so? Well, perhaps, but—Dobbin—don't be too sure. Think how sad it would be if you were to find out, too late, you'd been mistaken, you'd meant more to me than words could tell, more than you knew."
Over this equivoque Dobbin shook a baffled head; and Lucinda laughed, glanced carelessly toward the stage to make sure that the act still was young, and offered to rise.
"Let's not stay any longer, Dobbin, or we'll be caught in the carriage jam. Let's trot along and have a good time."
"What's the next jump?"