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Page 59
_Robinson [to Susan]._ It is such a real pleasure to us, Mrs. Nokes,
that you speak English. We were afraid we should find it difficult to
converse with you. Sponge is the only one of us who understands--
_Sponge._ Yes, madam, we did fear that since no other tongue is spoken
in courts and camps--or, at all events, in courts--we should have some
difficulty in following your ideas. But you speak English like a native.
_Susan [emphatically]._ I believe you. [_Recollecting and correcting
herself_] Dat is, I do trai mai best. It please my _mari_--my what ees
it?--my husband. He don't talk French heemself--not mooch.
_Nokes._ Well, I don't think you should quite say that, my dear. I could
always make myself understood abroad, you know, though my accent is
perhaps a little anglicized.
_Susan [laughing]._ Rayther so.
[_Guests exchange looks of astonishment._]
_Nokes [with precipation]._ My dear, what an expression! The fact is, my
friends, that madame has a young brother--Count Maximilian de
Montmorenci--at school in England, and what she knows of our language
she has mainly acquired from him. The consequence is, she occasionally
talks--in point of fact--slang.
_Susan [in broken English]._ Cherk the tinklare, coot your luckies, whos
your hattar? [_To Rasper_] Have your moder sold her mangle?
[_NOKES, SPONGE, and ROBINSON roar with laughter._]
_Rasper [aside]._ Confound that Nokes! He must have told her about my
family. [_With indignation_] Madam, I--[_Points by accident to the
portfolio._]
_Susan._ What? you weesh to see mai sketch? Oh, yas! [_Opens the
portfolio; the three guests crowd round it. Nokes comes down to the
front._]
_Nokes [aside]._ I wish they'd take their lunch and go away. They put me
in a profuse perspiration. I know they'll find her out.
_Robinson [with a sketch-book in his hand]._ Beautiful!
_Sponge [looking over his shoulder on tiptoe]._ Exquisite! most lovely!
it's what I call perfection.
_Rasper._ First-rate--only I've seen something like it before. [_Aside_]
If I haven't seen that in some print-shop. I'll be hanged. [_Blows._]
_Susan._ Ha! ha! you halve seen eet beefore, Mr.--_Gasper_? Think of
that, my husband,--Mr. Gasper has seen it beefore!
_Nokes [laughing uncomfortably]._ Ha! ha! What a funny idea!
_Rasper [obstinately]._ But I _have_, though; and in a shop-window, too.
_Susan [delightedly]._ That is superbe, magnifique! I am so happy, _so_
proud! My husband, they have copied this leetle work of mine in London!
[_ROBINSON and SPONGE clap their hands applaudingly._]
_Rasper [shakes his head; aside]._ Dashed if I don't believe it's a
chromolithograph! [_To Nokes_] I say, Nokes, you wrote to us in such
raptures about your wife's hands. Why does she keep her gloves on?
_Nokes [confused]._ Keep her gloves on? You mean why does she wear them
in-doors? Well, the fact is, the Montmorencis always do it. It's been a
family peculiarity for centuries,--like the Banshee. And, besides, she
does it to keep her hands delicate: they're just like roses--I mean
_white_ roses,--if you could only see 'em. But then she always wears
gloves.
_Rasper [grunts disapproval]._ Then I suppose it's no use asking her to
give us a tune on the piano?
_Nokes [hastily]._ Not a bit, not a bit; of course not; and, besides, we
shall have lunch directly.
_Susan [approaching them]._ What is dat, Mr. Gasper? Did you not ask for
a leetle music? What you like for me to play?
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