“Nineteen from forty-one, quick!” said I. “But, my dear Grace, you sit down and listen. That’s my tip. It’s the only way you’ll get out just yet, anyhow.”
“Don’t say I haven’t given you fair warning, Dimmy, will you?” she cried, with her face in a blaze.
“All right,” said I cheerily; “just give me time, Grace, and I’ll laugh, I’m positive I’ll laugh.”
Grace stamped her foot. She looked things.
“Very nice, indeed,” said I. “I’m certain I’ll laugh.”
“Oh, it is too bad!” she wailed. “Dimmy, you are a brute! I must go and tell ’em. I must really. Dimmy, do come away from that door, there’s a good soul!”
“No,” said I callously; “not until you have considered and replied to my proposal.”
“Proposal!” cried Grace, midway between amazement and rage. “What proposal?”
“That comes of not listening,” said I. “Think what you’ve missed. Am I to understand that you didn’t hear a word I said?”
“That’s about it,” said Grace.