“I can't help it,” she told him imploringly. “I simply cannot help laughing. It is funny, you know. She was scolding me—”
“Scolding!” George exclaimed.
That beauty should be scolded!
“Scolding—yes. Oh, I'm only a—well, scolding me, and I was wishing, wishing I could escape. And then suddenly out I shot. And then I look around and she's—” A wave of her hand expressed a disappearance that was by magic agency.
“But, scolding?” George said. “Need you trouble? She will be all right.”
“Oh, I must. I live with her.”
“Will she trouble about you?”
“I think she will return for me. Please, please go—would you mind?—to the corner, and see if there has been an accident.”
From that direction a bicyclist approached. George hailed. “Is there a cab accident round the corner?”
The youth stared; called “Rats!”; passed.