"I am glad that she is gone," he remarked. "I want to have you all to myself."
"Hush, hush!" implored Beatrice, shocked. "You must not speak of your mother that way."
"Mustn't one? Not even when she bores one?"
"No; no, indeed!" replied the girl earnestly. "Now do practice. There's a good little boy!"
"How old are you?" he asked abruptly.
"Fifteen. Why?"
"Well, don't you call me little boy any more. I am thirteen."
"You don't look it," remarked Bee with a critical glance at him. "I thought you were not more than ten. Your—"
"Yes; my clothes," interrupted he, frowning darkly. "I just hate them!"
"What makes you wear them then?" asked she, surprised.