"Pooh! You'd speak to me if I married a boa-constrictor."
"No. I'd send you a card on which you'd find nothing but the awful words,—
'Boa-constrictoress, farewell!'"
"Nonsense! You'd come over to be constricted, and the long and lovely bridegroom could make his supper of you. You know you adore me, Will, and so you'll see Tom Putnam. Tell him Sol is sick, or lame, or dead, or whatever it is, and we can't do without him."
"I'm always put upon," her brother said with mock despair: "in fact, I'm but a lovely, timorous flower that has been snubbed in the bud. I suppose I'll have to do it."
"That's a duck. You're an awful nice brother! But then who wouldn't be with such a surpassingly lovely sister!"
Half an hour later, Will encountered the lawyer in the street.
"I was going to see you," he said. "You presented yourself in the nick of time."
"People who present themselves in the nick of time," Putnam answered good-humoredly, "generally find themselves in a tight place. What did you want of me?"