“Yes. Her poor father——”
“I want to hear nothing of the poor father; it is poor Maggie you think of. I see all, clear as daylight—a Finch and a Birdwood match much better than a Gubbins and a Birdwood.” Then she burst into tears.
“My dear, be reasonable, and—kindly give me a spoonful of gravy; my bacon is dry.”
“How can you! How can you! Heartless, cruel man! Oh that I had married a commercial traveller!”
“A bagman, my dear!”
“You need not open your mouth, nostrils, and eyes with such a snorting affectation of surprise. I said it—a commercial traveller.”
“I did not know, my dear——”
“No. You did not know that I had a—a tender corner in my heart, a general predilection for commercials. They go about in flights, like humming-birds in the Brazilian forests.”
“Have you been in Brazil, dear?”
“No, I have not; but I have read of them. Living—animated jewels they are.”