'There's no telling'--leering ingratiatingly--'It might be at Berlin.'

'Tod, if I ever get to Berlin, I believe I'll find you there waiting
for me!'

'With a cup of tea for you in my hand.'

'Yes, and'--heartily--'very good tea too.'

He has partaken heavily, he is now in high good humour.

'Kenneth, we could come back by Paris!'

'All the ladies,' slapping his knees, 'likes to go to Paris.'

'Oh, Kenneth, Kenneth, if just once before I die I could be fitted for
a Paris gown with dreamy corsage!'

'You're all alike, old covey. We have a song about it.' He sings:

'Mrs. Gill is very ill,
Nothing can improve her
But to see the Tuileries
And waddle through the Louvre.'

No song ever had a greater success. Mrs. Dowey is doubled up with mirth.
When she comes to, when they both come to, for there are a pair of them,
she cries:

'You must learn me that,' and off she goes in song also: