"Yes—I'm hungry for both, and some of those funny little cakes."
"Come back where the fire is, dear; the tea has just been brought. There, take the big chair."
"It always feels like you—like your arms, Mütterchen—and I am tired."
"And throw off that coat. There's the lemon, if you're afraid of cream."
"I wish I weren't afraid of anything but cream."
"You told me you weren't afraid of that—that cad—any more."
"I'm not—I just told him so. But I'm afraid of it all; I'm tired trying not to drift—tired trying not to try, and tired trying to try—Oh, dear—sounds like a nonsense verse, doesn't it? Have you any one to-night? No? I think I must stay with you till morning. Send some one home to say I'll be here. I can always think so much better here—and you, dear old thing, to mother me!"
"Do, child; I'll send Sandon directly."
"He will go to the house of mourning."
"What's the latest?"