Nokes [with precipation]. My dear, what an expression! The fact is, my friends, that madame has a young brother—Count Maximilian de Montmorenci—at school in England, and what she knows of our language she has mainly acquired from him. The consequence is, she occasionally talks—in point of fact—slang.
Susan [in broken English]. Cherk the tinklare, coot your luckies, whos your hattar? [To Rasper] Have your moder sold her mangle?
[Nokes, Sponge, and Robinson roar with laughter.]
Rasper [aside]. Confound that Nokes! He must have told her about my family. [With indignation] Madam, I—[Points by accident to the portfolio.]
Susan. What? you weesh to see mai sketch? Oh, yas! [Opens the portfolio; the three guests crowd round it. Nokes comes down to the front.]
Nokes [aside]. I wish they'd take their lunch and go away. They put me in a profuse perspiration. I know they'll find her out.
Robinson [with a sketch-book in his hand]. Beautiful!
Sponge [looking over his shoulder on tiptoe]. Exquisite! most lovely! it's what I call perfection.
Rasper. First-rate—only I've seen something like it before. [Aside] If I haven't seen that in some print-shop. I'll be hanged. [Blows.]
Susan. Ha! ha! you halve seen eet beefore, Mr.—Gasper? Think of that, my husband,—Mr. Gasper has seen it beefore!