"But I ought to bother about it if I intend to make a trustworthy step-ladder out of my dead selves to upper storeys."
"A trustworthy fire-escape, you mean; but I won't have it. You sha'n't have any dead selves, my dear, because I shall insist on keeping them all alive by artificial respiration, or restoration from drowning, or something of that kind. Not one of them shall die with my permission; remember that. I'm much too fond of them."
"You silly boy! You'll never train me and discipline me properly if you go on in this way."
"Hang it all, Betty! Who wants to train and discipline you? Certainly not I. I am wise enough to let well—or rather perfection—alone."
Elisabeth nestled up to Christopher. "But I'm not perfection, Chris; you know that as well as I do."
"Probably I shouldn't love you so much if you were; so please don't reform, dear."
"And you like me just as I am?"
"Precisely. I should break my heart if you became in any way different from what you are now."
"But you mustn't break your heart; it belongs to me, and I won't have you smashing up my property."
"I gave it to you, it is true; but the copyright is still mine. The copyright of letters that I wrote to you is mine; and I believe the law of copyright is the same with regard to hearts as to letters."