"Meaning what, Tillie, my darling?" said Leander.
"Oh, you know—my cloak!"
He had had so much to think about that he had really forgotten the cloak of late.
"Well, no, I've not brought that—not the cloak, Tillie," he said slowly.
"What a time they are about it!" complained Matilda.
"You see," explained the poor man, "when a cloak like that is damaged, it has to be sent back to the manufacturers to be done, and they've so many things on their hands. I couldn't promise that you'll have that cloak—well, not this side of Christmas, at least."
"You must have been very rough with it, then, Leander," she remarked.
"I was," he said. "I don't know how I came to be so rough. You see, I was trying to tear it off——" But here he stopped.
"Trying to tear it off what?"
"Trying to tear it off nothink, but trying to tear the wrapper off it. It was so involved," he added, "with string and paper and that; and I'm a clumsy, unlucky sort of chap, sweet one; and I'm uncommon sorry about it, that I am!"