“So I am, and it’s very good of you,” said Mrs Scribe; “and now you’ll be good, too, and not tease mamma—now, won’t you!”
“All right.”
“And I say, dear.”
“Well!” (from under the counterpane).
“Don’t, now—same as you did last time—don’t ask poor mamma how long she means to stay.”
“All right,” (very muffled in tone).
“No, dear, it isn’t all right if you ask her such a thing. It looks as if you meant that you wanted to get rid of her again.”
“So I do,” (this time so smothered that it was audible only to self).
“Good-night, dear.”
“Goonight.”