"Oh," said I, "if you find it a nuisance, I've a parlour-maid I could recommend to you; just the girl to help you to get rid of it."
At this point I think he had some idea of having the finest collection of parlourmaids in Middlesex, but he made it small dogs instead. Was I interested in these? No, but I supposed I'd have to be if he insisted.
"I don't think I should be far wrong," he began, but I hustled him through to the end of his sentence.
"Finest collection in—?" I asked.
"England," he said.
He went over their points, and in an expansive moment I marvelled. This was imprudent, as it caused him to search his mind for some further spectacular triumph wherewith to amaze and delight.
"That," he said, looking up the table, "is my wife."
"Marvellous," said I.
He took this in the best part. "You refer to her diamonds?" he said.
"Did I?" said I.