'"Elephantine wit," sighed the lady. "When Harry is so kind as to make a joke, which is, unfortunately, not so rare as one might wish, I always feel as if heavy feet were tramping about directly overhead."
"And when Lady Oxted makes a joke," said the lad, "which is not so often as her enemies would wish, she always reminds me of a sucking spring directly underfoot. I give one waterlogged cry, and am swallowed up. Do pour out tea for us, Lady Oxted. You are such an excellent tea-maker."
"The score is fifteen all," remarked Evie.
"When did Harry score?" demanded Lady Oxted, seating herself at the urn.'
from The Luck of the Vails by EF Benson (Part III, Chapter XII)
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