"An old French lady and her daughter."
"Well, that's two ladies, isn't it?"
"I suppose so—you can't make it three. Then there was uncle; it's true he's a host in himself."
"How's he going on?"
"Splendidly."
"I'm very anxious to see him," said Julia. "It's so seldom one meets anyone really original in this life; most people are copies of others, and generally bad ones at that."
"That's so," said Bobby.
"How's the novel going on?" said Julia.
"Heavens!" said Bobby, "do you think I can add literary work to my other distractions? The novel is not going on, but the plot is."
"How d'you mean?"