"Maggie Williams! My dear chap, what are you thinking about? She's an infant in arms. How could she have come to a dance at our house, and given me a carnation—there I've let that out. Maggie Williams! Why she gets ink on her fingers."
"I know she's thirteen because she told me so; and she's your parson's daughter; I don't see why she shouldn't have come to your ball."
"Well, she didn't anyhow; and I don't go in for baby-snatching. If I take to a girl she's got to know a bit."
"I don't know all the people about here yet. You might tell me whether I've seen her."
"No, my son. She wouldn't like it."
"I believe it's all swank. If she's grown up, and she let you kiss her, I expect it was just because she thought you were only a little boy, and it didn't matter."
"I never said I did kiss her."
"Well, you must have been an ass if you didn't."
"I didn't say I didn't either. But I don't mind telling you that I'd arranged a sitting-out place with a bit of mistletoe beforehand."
"You might tell me who it was."