What do you think of the decorations? Artistic, aren't they?
Then you shouldn't have locked up the rooms downstairs.
I daren't allow the neighbours to see the house lighted up downstairs. I wish I could have locked up all you vexing girls.
That's not the spirit to give a party in! [_Contemplating the table._] How many do you think your friend, Mr. Mallory, will bring?
I don't think Mr. Mallory will find his way here at all. Have you observed the fog?
You can't see your hand before you outside. I sincerely hope my friend will _not_ come.
I don't think that's the language for a party, Mr. Queckett!
I beg your pardon. Who _is_ Paulover? [_Tyler enters with a bill in-his hand, with his hair stiffly brushed and greased, and wearing an expression of intense wonderment._] What's this?
A beautiful large lobster salid is come, sir.
[_Looking at Peggy._] I haven't ordered a lobster salad. [_In an undertone._] You know, this is getting extremely vexing. [_He takes from his pocket the packets of money previously given him by Miss Dyott._] I've already paid a bill for some oysters and a _pâté de foie gras_. Jane's wages went for that. [_Opening a packet._] Now, here's a salad. That breaks into next week's household expenses. [_Handing the money to Tyler, who goes out._]
We're only girls, you know. And you seem to forget you're our uncle.
To-night you are. But you needn't be our uncle to-morrow.
[_Gloomily._] Somebody will have to be _my_ uncle to-morrow. Then I understand there's a lark pudding ordered for half-past nine. I can't allow the account to be sent in to--to--
Well--to--to Auntie. Who pays for the lark pudding?
You couldn't well ask girls to do it; besides, it's your party.
It is _not_ my party, and it is _your_ lark pudding.
It may be our lark--but it's your pudding. [_Tyler enters still much astonished, and with another bill._]
Part of the party is my party. [_Opening another packet._] I've broken into the rent. [_He hands Tyler the bill and some money, pocketing the remainder. Tyler goes out._] The Fire Insurance alone remains intact. [_Opening the last packet._] Postal Orders for thirty shillings. I'll despatch that, at any rate. [_He sits at the writing-table and begins to write. Peggy hammers up the last piece of holly, as Queckett tries to write._] Oh, you vexing girl!