"Well, but have you?" she persisted.
"No," answered I; "they died before I can remember."
"So did mine!" she nodded. "But you have friends?"
"Yes."
"Many?"
"Three," I answered. "To be particular, one aunt and two uncles."
"Rich folk, ain't they?"
"Well, yes, I suppose they are. And allow me to point out that the word 'ain't' is becoming obsolete in polite conversation, giving place to 'are not' or to 'is not' as the case may be. Now, returning to our grammar—" And forthwith I began to decline for her benefit verbs regular and irregular, together with their tenses; I parsed and analysed simple sentences, explaining the just relation of Subject, Object and Predicate, while she watched me grave-eyed and listened to my grammatical dicta with an attention that I found highly gratifying. Thus I dilated upon the beauties of our language, its wealth of metaphor and adjectival possibilities, its intricacies and pitfalls, until the sun was high and my throat parched.
"There, Diana," I concluded, "here endeth our first lesson for the present. I trust you have not found me too discursive?"
"Well," said she, knitting her black brows thoughtfully, "I'm not sure. It all sounds very—wonderful, but I don't understand a word of it."