'Oh, dear,' said all the ladies, 'so they are! it's very natural you
should feel proud of that; but don't give way, don't.'

'I can--not help it, and it don't signify,' sobbed Mrs Kenwigs; 'oh!
they're too beautiful to live, much too beautiful!'

On hearing this alarming presentiment of their being doomed to an early
death in the flower of their infancy, all four little girls raised
a hideous cry, and burying their heads in their mother's lap
simultaneously, screamed until the eight flaxen tails vibrated again;
Mrs Kenwigs meanwhile clasping them alternately to her bosom, with
attitudes expressive of distraction, which Miss Petowker herself might
have copied.

At length, the anxious mother permitted herself to be soothed into a
more tranquil state, and the little Kenwigses, being also composed, were
distributed among the company, to prevent the possibility of Mrs Kenwigs
being again overcome by the blaze of their combined beauty. This done,
the ladies and gentlemen united in prophesying that they would live for
many, many years, and that there was no occasion at all for Mrs Kenwigs
to distress herself; which, in good truth, there did not appear to be;
the loveliness of the children by no means justifying her apprehensions.

'This day eight year,' said Mr Kenwigs after a pause. 'Dear me--ah!'

This reflection was echoed by all present, who said 'Ah!' first, and
'dear me,' afterwards.

'I was younger then,' tittered Mrs Kenwigs.