Jack. That beastly cat in the room again! Turn it out quick—it's going to be ill.
Mrs. R. (laughing a little hysterically). No—no, JACK, it isn't poor Snowball this time! Wait, and you will hear something.
[The "Voice that Breathed o'er Eden" is suddenly rendered by an organ and full choir: the remarks of two choristers (who are having a little difference over a hymn-book), and the subdued sniffs of MRS. MANDOLINE, being distinctly audible between the verses.
Mrs. R. (breaking down). Oh, JACK, isn't it beautiful? Wasn't it sweet of Uncle JOHN to give it to us!
Jack (who, privately, would have infinitely preferred a small cheque). Yes—he's a good old buffer at bottom.
Mrs. R. He's a perfect old love! Tell me, JACK, you're not sorry you married me, are you?
Jack. What a thing to ask a fellow Of course I'm not!
Mrs. R. (softly). Do you know, JACK, I'm sometimes sorry I married you, though.
Jack (uneasily). Come, I say, you know—what on earth for?
Mrs. R. Because I should like to marry you all over again!... Ah, I knew I should frighten you! (The final "Amen" of the Choir dies away, amid the coughing, rustling, and nasal trumpeting of last year's Congregation.) There are some more cylinders, JACK—shall we put them in next?