"Fine!" he laughed, but she quietly interrupted him:
"Nothing but Mother Goose—and, after this evening, nothing, ever!"
He drew a wry face, murmuring:
"Little Jack Sprite is very contrite, and wants to make up with his lady!"
She puzzled a moment over Little Jack Sprite. It did not seem quite relevant to the nursery classic which, only a few years back, she had read many times to Bip.
"That isn't Mother Goose," she finally stated. "I shan't do this any more."
"But it is," he protested, "and I'll show it to you in the book! They were reading Mother Goose to me long after you lost interest in it."
There was no rise to this, and he cautiously added:
"My poor brain, while ages older, has never developed up to yours. Do you know any rhymes, at all?"
Silence.