"And you don't want me to?"
"No."
"If I happen to see you alone in the garden, must I go and get your Uncle
Tim or my mother?"
"Not if you'll talk sense."
"I don't talk sense?"
Sally did not answer this question, so he repeated it, in the form of an accepted statement: "So I don't talk sense."
This certainly called loudly for an explanation, and Sally made it—in a way. "I think you know what I mean."
"I know what I mean, but I didn't know it deserved that name."
"It's only—" Sally hesitated, then she went through with it, speaking hurriedly: "I don't want you to bother about me—doing things for me—except as you do them for us all. You—you—are getting—"
"Well, what am I getting? Out with it!"