"Nobody but yourself ever thought so, Queenie," said Alfred Whittaker, with an indulgent glance at his wife; "and everybody may not think of our girls just as you do." "And as you do, Alfie?" "And as I do. All the same, I don't know that I should call them beautiful myself. They're good-looking, wholesome, straight, clean, desirable girls, as good as gold and as merry as grigs. By the way," he added, "the Marksbys must be very well off." "Indeed! What makes you think so?" "From what he told me of his circumstances." "But what _are_ the Marksbys?" asked Regina. "He's in his father's business." "But what _is_ his father's business?" Alfred Whittaker stretched out his hand and took hold of his wife's. "Queenie," he said, "we have never been very proud people, have we?" "I hope we have always had proper pride, and no more," said Regina. "He is a nice young chap," Alfred went on, as if he were following out a train of thought; "and Maudie seems to be very much taken with him--" "Alfie," said Regina in a tone of apprehension, "you are trying to break something to me." "Well, in one sense, I am," he said, smiling; "and on the other hand I am not. Myself I believe in honest character and good solid comfort before all other considerations, and I feel that you will be sensible and do the same. Maudie has still to learn, as far as I know, the exact nature of the way in which the Marksbys' money is made." "Go on," said Regina, impatiently. "Well, to go on," said Mr. Whittaker, "is to let the blow fall without any further fuss." "Let it fall!" cried Regina in a tone of tragedy. "Marksby," returned Alfred, "is their private name. They trade under a different one." "Yes?" "And Marksby," went on Alfred, slowly, "is the Twopenny Dinner King." "The Twopenny Dinner King!" cried Regina. "You mean they sell twopenny dinners?" "Yes, Queenie--twopenny dinners. I'm told they are excellent--indeed, young Harry told me so himself just now. He has invited me to go down and have lunch with him one day, and he promises he will give me the regular twopenny fare--not by way of entertaining me, but rather in order to show me that it really could be done at such a price." "And--and--does Harry wear an apron--and--and _serve_ twopenny dinners?" "No, no! The concern's too big for that," Mr. Whittaker replied. "He has never done anything of that kind. It's a regular going concern--they employ hundreds of hands, make all their own sausages, make their own beef, mutton, veal, pork and ham pies, cook their own potatoes and green vegetables. They've got about thirty of these shops--Bundaby's Eating Houses they are called. They must be coining money." "_My_ daughter married to a sausage-maker!" said Regina in a bewildered tone. "There's nothing in that," Alfred Whittaker rejoined; "there's nothing in that, my dear girl, provided he makes his sausages good and wholesome and enough of 'em. But I was afraid it would be a bit of a blow to you."