"It's a rather terrible book, I think," sighed Diana.
"Not a doubt of it," said I. "What do you think, Jerry?"
"Aye," he nodded, "I used to sell that book once, or one like it—"
"I mean," explained Diana, "it will be terribly hard to teach myself to do everything it says—"
"Indeed, I should think so," I nodded.
"You see," she mourned, "I—I didn't act a bit right when you—told me you—loved me—"
"Ah, but you did, Diana—"
"No, Peregrine, I was quite wrong and oh, most unladylike!"
"How so?"
"Well, I didn't tremble with maiden modesty or yield my hand coyly and by degrees, or droop my lashes, or falter with my breath—or—"