"[Nevertheless] speak. Anything is better than this ghastly quiet; and, besides, frankly, I need not mind you, you know."
"You are flirting disgracefully with that Ronayne boy."
"What harm, if he is a boy?"
"He is not such a boy as all that comes to; and, if you don't mean it, you are overkind to him."
"He is my baby," says Olga, with a little laugh; "I often tell him so. Why should I not be kind to him?"
"Oh, if you are bent on it."
"I am bent on nothing. You do run away so with things!"
"I think you might do better."
"I'm not going to do anything," says the widow. She throws off her hat, and ruffles up all her pretty pale gold hair with impatient fingers.
"Oh! if you can assure me of that!"