ST. OLPHERTS. The father--one of those public park vermin, eh?

LUCAS. Dead years ago.

ST. OLPHERTS. I once heard her bellowing in a dirty little shed in St.
Luke's. I told you?

LUCAS. Yes, you've told me.

ST. OLPHERTS. I sat there again, it seemed, this afternoon. The orator
not quite so lean, perhaps--a little less witch-like; but--

LUCAS. She was actually in want of food in those days! Poor girl!
[Partly to himself.] I mean to remind myself of that constantly. Poor
girl!

ST. OLPHERTS. Girl! Let me see--you're considerably her junior?

LUCAS. No, no; a few months, perhaps.

ST. OLPHERTS. Oh, come!

LUCAS. Well, years--two or three.

ST. OLPHERTS. The voice remains rather raucous.

LUCAS. By God, the voice is sweet!

ST. OLPHERTS. Well--considering the wear and tear. Really, my dear
fellow, I do believe this--I do believe that if you gowned her