Mrs.B. Who? Who?
Mr. B. Your friend, the widow Nettleby, to her cousin John Nettleby.
Mrs. B. Mrs. Nettleby? Dear! But why did you tell me?
Mr. B. Because you asked me, my dear.
Mrs. B. Oh, but it is a hundred times pleasanter to read the paragraph one's self. One loses all the pleasure of the surprise by being told. Well, whose was the other marriage?
Mr. B. Oh, my dear, I will not tell you; I will leave you the pleasure of the surprise.
Mrs. B. But you see I can not find it. How provoking you are, my dear! Do pray tell me.
Mr. B. Our friend Mr. Granby.
Mrs. B. Mr. Granby? Dear! Why did you not make me guess? I should have guessed him directly. But why do you call him our friend? I am sure he is no friend of mine, nor ever was. I took an aversion to him, as you remember, the very first day I saw him. I am sure he is no friend of mine.
Mr. B. I am sorry for it, my dear; but I hope you will go and see Mrs.
Granby.