"Where are you going, Bertha?"
"Into the garden. My head aches."
And she went out.
"I think, Doome,—they call you Doome, don't they? and a tidy name, too,—I think, Doome, Bertha doesn't like pipes."
"I think the smell of a pipe delicious."
"And what do you think of this pipe?"
"Oh! I think it a beautiful pipe!"
"Hum,—so you've lots of lovers?"
"Well,—I have a few."
"Ah!—do they smoke?"