Beg pardon; this is the last blow. [_She gives another knock as Jane enters, carrying a large ornamental wedding-cake. Jane is in a black gown and smart cap and apron; her eyes are wide open with pleasure and astonishment. Jane deposits the cake upon the writing-table before Queckett._]
'Scuse me, sir; the confectioner's jest brought the things.
What's that? _That_ isn't the lark pudding.
[_Laughing._] Oh, don't, you funny man! No, it's Mr. Paulover's.
Let's settle one thing at a time. Who is Paulover?
Secretly. To Mr. Paulover. [_Queckett puts his hand to his brow._]
_Young_ Paulover. They were married really three weeks ago, but without any breakfast--I don't mean a bacon breakfast, I mean a proper breakfast. But we girls think they ought to have a wedding-cake and everything complete to start them in life together: and that's why you're giving this party, you know.
Now, understand me, I will not be dragged into such a conspiracy!
The Ranklings are acquaintances of mine, almost relatives; Admiral Rankling's cousin married the sister of the man who bought my brother's horses. [_Rubbing his hands together._] I wash my hands of all you vexing girls.
Don't fret about it, please. Nothing can ever make Mrs. Paulover Miss Rankling again. I'll go and dress while you finish your letter.
[_Impatiently._] Oh! [He resumes writing at the table.]
[_Going to the door._] The girls will be here directly. Be nice, won't you? [_She goes out. Jane enters with tarts and confectionery on dishes which she places on the table before Queckett._]
S'cuse me, sir. [_Queckett rises with his letter and the inkstand, and goes impatiently over to the other side of the room, where he continues writing on the top of piano._]
They won't let me write to the Insurance Office. [_Tyler enters with some boxes of bon-bons. The writing table being crowded Jane waves him over to the piano and goes out. Tyler puts the bon-bons on the top of the piano before Queckett, who snatches up his letter and the inkstand again and goes to the centre table._]
I will write to the Insurance Office. [_Tyler goes out as Jane re-enters._]
[_Presenting a bill._] The pastrycook's bill, sir.
Great Scot! [_Diving his hand into his pocket, bringing out some loose money and giving it to Jane._] There! [_Jane goes out._] I've written to the Insurance Office. [_Sealing the letter._] My mind's easy--done my duty to poor Caroline. [_He puts the letter in his breast pocket as Tyler enters._]