Mrs. Prior. “What nice marmalade! I know some children, my dears, who——”
Miss P. (imploringly). “Mamma, I beseech you——”
Mrs. P. “I know three dear children who very—very seldom have nice marmalade and delicious cake.”
Pop. “I know whom you mean: you mean Augustus, and Frederick, and Fanny—your children? Well, they shall have marmalade and cake.”
Cis. “Oh, yes, I will give them all mine.”
Pop. (who speaks, I think, as if his mouth was full). “I won’t give ’em mine: but they can have another pot, you know. You have always got a basket with you; you know you have, Mrs. Prior. You had it the day you took the cold fowl.”
Mrs. P. “For the poor blind black man! Oh, how thankful he was to his dear young benefactors! He is a man and a brother, and to help him was most kind of you, dear Master Popham!”
Pop. “That black beggar my brother? He ain’t my brother!”
Mrs. P. “No, dears, you have both the most lovely complexions in the world.”
Pop. “Bother complexions! I say, Mary, another pot of marmalade.”