“We fancied Mr. Weathercock might suit.”
“God has given him looks, but no brains,” Mr. Smee emphatically declared. “No more brains than a cow in a field.”
“His is indeed a charming face,” Mrs. Sixsmith sighed. “And as to his brains, Mr. Smee—why, come!”
“Who’s to create the countess?” he asked.
“Lady Capulet? It’s not determined yet.”
“Why not canvass the wife?”
“Has she been in Shakespeare before?”
“From the time she could toddle; in a Midsummer Night’s Dream, when not quite two, she was the Bug with gilded wings.”
“Pet!”
“Sure....”