“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, we are going all round the world. Pshaw! John, why don’t you remember your memory? We want to go out of town.”
“Brighthelmston is a nice place, my Lord.”
“Who lives there?”
“My grandmother, my Lord—Mrs Smith.”
“Hannah Maria Matilda, my love, Brighthelmston is a nice place, and John’s grandmother lives there—a Mrs. Smith. Did you ever hear that name before, my Lady?”
“My Lord, our friend, Sir Arthur, has a mansion in that neigbourhood, and I long to see his lovely niece Ophelia.”
“Fore-gad, my Lady, well remembered, we’ll off to Brighthelmston, call on Sir Arthur, stand sponsors for his newly-born heir, and—and—and John, run to Rundell and Bridges, and order a coral, to present to the young teeth-cutting baronet.”
“London Bridges! my Lord. What do you want with the London Bridges. We can’t take them with us to Brighthelmston.”
“Why you silly stupid—duck o’diamonds I mean, I did not say London Bridges! but Rundell and Bridges, the eminent gold and silversmiths, who live somewhere in the abominable city, up King Ludgate’s Hill—I think the dem’med name of the place is called—a place where King Ludgate took up his ten or twenty thousand men, or million men—and—and—yes, brought them down again—something of that sort—you understand.”
All was prepared. Smack went the whip. Off went the horses. Her Ladyship went into the right hand corner of the carriage, and his Lordship on the left hand side; and the next morning it was announced in the Post that Lord —— and his Lady had gone out of town.