“At the end of the week, dear, you’ll get one of those long crêpe veils.”
Perhaps one of Lord Beaconsfield’s brightest flings was at the wife of his bitterest political foe. Mrs. Gladstone passed the Prime Minister one day, and he cast a glance at her over his shoulder, saying: “There goes a woman without one redeeming fault.”
A private, anxious to secure leave of absence, sought his captain with a most convincing tale about a sick wife breaking her heart for his presence.
The officer, familiar with the soldier’s ways, replied:
“I am afraid you are not telling the truth. I have just received a letter from your wife urging me not to let you come home because you get drunk, and mistreat her shamefully.”
The private saluted and started to leave the room. He paused at the door, asking: “Sor, may I spake to you, not as an officer, but as mon to mon?”
“Yes, what is it?”