“Warm weather, Mrs. Lammle,” said Fascination Fledgeby. Mrs. Lammle thought it scarcely as warm as it had been yesterday. “Perhaps not,” said Fascination Fledgeby, with great quickness of repartee; “but I expect it will be devilish warm tomorrow.”
He threw off another little scintillation. “Been out today, Mrs. Lammle?”
Mrs. Lammle answered, for a short drive.
“Some people,” said Fascination Fledgeby, “are accustomed to take long drives; but it generally appears to me that if they make ’em too long, they overdo it.”
Being in such feather, he might have surpassed himself in his next sally, had not Miss Podsnap been announced. Mrs. Lammle flew to embrace her darling little Georgy, and when the first transports were over, presented Mr. Fledgeby. Mr. Lammle came on the scene last, for he was always late, and so were the frequenters always late; all hands being bound to be made late, by private information about the Bourse, and Greek and Spanish and India and Mexican and par and premium and discount and three quarters and seven eighths.
A handsome little dinner was served immediately, and Mr. Lammle sat sparkling at his end of the table, with his servant behind his chair, and his ever-lingering doubts upon the subject of his wages behind himself. Mr. Lammle’s utmost powers of sparkling were in requisition today, for Fascination Fledgeby and Georgiana not only struck each other speechless, but struck each other into astonishing attitudes; Georgiana, as she sat facing Fledgeby, making such efforts to conceal her elbows as were totally incompatible with the use of a knife and fork; and Fledgeby, as he sat facing Georgiana, avoiding her countenance by every possible device, and betraying the discomposure of his mind in feeling for his whiskers with his spoon, his wine glass, and his bread.