Rice-pudding, Sir.
[Cayley drops spoon hastily.
Aubrey.
[Politely.] You’re eating nothing, Cayley.
Cayley.
[With some concern.] Aubrey, have I slept through the joint? I have no recollection of eating it. If, in a moment of abstraction, I refused it, may I change my mind?
Aubrey.
[Sternly.] My wife never has meat at her table on Fridays.
Cayley.