“How long will you be putting on your bonnet, Fancy?” Dick inquired at the foot of the staircase. Being now a man of business and married, he was strong on the importance of time, and doubled the emphasis of his words in conversing, and added vigour to his nods.
“Only a minute.”
“How long is that?”
“Well, dear, five.”
“Ah, sonnies!” said the tranter, as Dick retired, “’tis a talent of the female race that low numbers should stand for high, more especially in matters of waiting, matters of age, and matters of money.”
“True, true, upon my body,” said Geoffrey.
“Ye spak with feeling, Geoffrey, seemingly.”
“Anybody that d’know my experience might guess that.”
“What’s she doing now, Geoffrey?”
“Claning out all the upstairs drawers and cupboards, and dusting the second-best chainey—a thing that’s only done once a year. ‘If there’s work to be done I must do it,’ says she, ‘wedding or no.’”