They always exaggerate in that style, so that you would really think she had a mighty passion for Brookfield." "Or in it," suggested Freshfield.
"Or in it!" she laughed assentingly.
Mr.Pole was perceived entering the garden, rubbing his hands a little too obsequiously to some remark of the baronet's, as the critical ladies imagined.

Sir Twickenham's arm spread out in a sweep; Mr.Pole's head nodded.

After the ceremony of the salute, the ladies were informed of Sir Twickenham's observation: Sir Twickenham Pryme, a statistical member of Parliament, a well-preserved half-century in age, a gentleman in bearing, passably grey-headed, his whiskers brushed out neatly, as if he knew them individually and had the exact amount of them collectively at his fingers' ends: Sir Twickenham had said of Mr.Pole's infant park that if devoted to mangold-wurzel it would be productive and would pay: whereas now it was not ornamental and was waste.
"Sir Twickenham calculates," said Mr.Pole, "that we should have a crop of--eh ?" "The average ?" Sir Twickenham asked, on the evident upward mounting of a sum in his brain.

And then, with a relaxing look upon Cornelia: "Perhaps you might have fifteen, sixteen, perhaps for the first year; or, say--you see, the exact acreage is unknown to me.

Say roughly, ten thousand sacks the first year." "Of what ?" inquired Cornelia.
"Mangold-wurzel," said the baronet.
She gazed about her.