'I spent the morning at my sister's wedding.

Would you like a bit of the cake ?' He produced from his pocket a paper containing crushed fragments of white sugar and a shapeless mass of citron and currants.

'With the compliments of the Reverend Mother,' he said.

'Try a bit.' 'What on earth do you mean ?' said Hyacinth.
'Oh, I assure you the Sisters of Pity do these things in style,' said Maguire.

'It's a pretty fancy, that of the wedding-cake, isn't it?
But you're a Protestant, Conneally; you don't understand this delicate playfulness.