Polly (interrupting). A lot of what? Go on—don't mind us.
Mr. H. It don't matter. I know what they are.
Polly. But you like Miss PINKNEY, though,—at the shop in Queen's Road,—you know.
Mr. H. (by way of proclaiming his indifference). Miss PINKNEY? She ought to be Mrs. SOMEBODY by this time,—she's getting on for thirty.
Polly. Ah, but she don't look it, does she: not with that lovely coloured 'air and complexion? You knew she painted, I dessay? She don't look—well, not more than thirty-two, at the outside. She spends a lot on her 'air, I know. She sent our GEORGY one day to the 'air-dresser's for a bottle of the stuff she puts on, and the barber sez: "What, do you dye your 'air?" To little GEORGY! fancy!
Mr. H. Well, she may dye herself magenter for all I care. (Changing the subject.) ARTHUR's found a lot of old friends at Melbun,—first person he come upon was a policeman as used to be at King Street; and you remember that Miss LAVENDER he used to go out with? (Speaking at FLO.) Well, her brother was on board the steamer he went in.
Polly. It's all right, FLO, ain't it? so long as it wasn't Miss LAVENDER herself! (To Mr. H.) I say, ain't you got a moustarsh comin'!
Mr. H. (wounded for the third time). That'll do. I'm off this time! [The devoted ALF once more prepares for departure.
Polly. All right! Tell us where you'll be, and we may come and meet you. I daresay we shall find you by the Outer Circle,—where the children go when they get lost. I say, ERNIE, look what a short frock that girl's got on.
Mr. H. (lingering undecidedly). I don't want to look at no girls, I tell you.