Mr. Ditch. Yes, dear Mrs. Tidmarsh, our opportunities for these festive meetings grow more and more limited with each advancing year. Seven dear friends, at whose board we have sat, and they at ours, within the past twelve months, carried off—all gone from us!
Mrs. Ditch. Eight, Jeremiah, if you count Mr. Jaunders—though he only dined with us once.
Mr. Ditch. To be sure, and never left his bed again. Well, well, it should teach us, as I was remarking to my dear wife as we drove along, to set a higher value than we do on such hospitalities as we are still privileged to enjoy.
Mr. Toomer (to Mrs. Tid.) My poor wife would, I am sure, have charged me with all manner of messages, if she had not been more or less delirious all day—but I am in no anxiety about her—she is so often like that, it is almost chronic.
Seakale. Mr. and Mrs. Bodfish! Miss Flinders! Mr. Poffley!
Mr. Bodf. (after salutations.) Mrs. Bodfish and myself have just been the victims of a most extraordinary mistake! We positively walked straight into your next-door neighbour's house, and if we had not been undeceived by a mummy on the first landing, I don't know where we should have found ourselves next.
Mrs. Tid. A mummy! How very disagreeable; such a peculiar thing to have about a house? But we really know nothing about the people next door. We have never encouraged any intimacy. We thought it best.
Mrs. Bodf. I told their man-servant as we came away that I considered he had behaved disgracefully in not telling us our mistake at once; no doubt he had a motive; people are so unprincipled!
