“Oh, let them speak out! If it’s in them, I’d rather it came out of them. I detest your innuendoes!”
“However,” said I, “we can never make the crooked tree straight. We must take people as we find them.”
“Or leave them!” said she. Then, suddenly pausing, she pressed me, quite in an altered tone, to take a little more wine. “You have scarcely tasted it—perhaps you prefer some other sort.”
“Oh no, thank you. The fact is, I have so long been a water-drinker, that even a little sip makes my mouth feel all on fire.”
“Ah! then that can’t be pleasant, I’m sure,” said she, cordially. “I won’t press you to have any more. I only wish I knew what you would like.”
“I like looking at you and your baby,” said I, smiling.
“Do you think him like me?”
“Yes.”
“Ah! you said that, I fear, to please me. I own I laid myself out for it. But now, tell me, Mrs. Cheerlove, don’t you think that we have pleasing things said rather too often to us before marriage, and too seldom afterwards?”
“Yes, I think that is sometimes the case.”