“There’s Matty DeLong,” replied Berty. “She has neuralgia terribly, but then her hair isn’t light.”
“I don’t want a neuralgic victim. It’s just a kind of general debility girl I want.”
“What about the doctor’s bills?”
“I’ll pay them,” said Tom, enthusiastically. “Give me domestic peace even at the expense of bills.”
“I expect I’d be a terrible termagant if I married,” observed Berty, thoughtfully.
Her companion made no reply to this assertion.
“If I asked a man for money, and he wouldn’t give it to me, I think I’d want to pound him to a jelly,” continued Berty, warmly.
“I expect he’d let you,” observed Tom, meekly, “but you’re not thinking of marriage for yourself, are you, Berty?”
“No,” she said, snappishly, “only when the subject is so much discussed, I can’t help having ideas put into my head.”
“I suppose you’d like a Boston man, wouldn’t you?” inquired Tom, demurely.