Mrs. P.-P.: Really! Nothing very dreadful, I hope.
Em.: Oh dear, no! It's too early on the voyage for that sort of thing. We were feeling rather sorry for you.
Mrs. P.-P.: Sorry for me? Whatever for?
Maj.: Your childless hearth and all that, you know. No little pattering feet.
Mrs. P.-P.: Major! How dare you? I've got my little girl, I suppose you know. Her feet can patter as well as other children's.
Maj.: Only one pair of feet.
Mrs. P.-P.: Certainly. My child isn't a centipede. Considering the way they move us about in those horrid jungle stations, without a decent bungalow to set one's foot in, I consider I've got a hearthless child, rather than a childless hearth. Thank you for your sympathy all the same. I dare say it was well meant. Impertinence often is.
Em: Dear Mrs. Paly-Paget, we were only feeling sorry for your sweet little girl when she grows older, you know, No little brothers and sisters to play with.
Mrs. P.-P.: Mrs. Carewe, this conversation strikes me as being indelicate, to say the least of it. I've only been married two and a
