Punch, or the London Charivari

"How dare you ask me to wear that?" I broke out when I had partially recovered from the shock.

"Why, wot's wrong with it? You said you wanted a pink tricky one. It's pink, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is pink," I admitted faintly.

"An' it's far trickier nor wot the other was."

"You had better keep the jumper for yourself," I said crossly. "No doubt it will suit you better than it would me."

She seemed gratified, but not unusually taken aback at my generosity. "Well, since you ses it yourself, 'm, p'raps it is more my style. Your complexion won't stand as much as mine."

I was pondering on whether this was intended as a compliment or an insult when she spoke again.

"I shan't 'arf cut a dash," she murmured as she drifted to the door; "an' it might be the means o' bringin' it off this time."

"Bringing what off, Elizabeth?"

"Bringin' my new young man to the point, 'm. You see, 'e do love a bit o' colour; _an' I knew 'e wouldn't 'ave liked the rose doo ba