“Really, Martha,” said he, “don't you think you had better have a little closer outlook over that baby?”
“Oh, Cyril, I never dreamed of such a thing,” cried Miss Martha.
“You really must speak to Madame,” said Cyril. “I cannot have such things put into the child's head.”
“Oh, Cyril, how can I?”
“I think it is your duty.”
“Cyril, could not—you?”
Cyril grinned. “Do you think,” said he, “that I am going to that elegant widow schoolma'am and say, 'Madame, my young daughter has had four proposals of marriage in one day, and I must beg you to put a stop to such proceedings'? No, Martha; it is a woman's place to do such a thing as that. The whole thing is too absurd, indignant as I am about it. Poor little soul!”
So it happened that Miss Martha Rose, the next day being Saturday, called on Madame, but, not being asked any leading question, found herself absolutely unable to deliver herself of her errand, and went away with it unfulfilled.
“Well, I must say,” said Madame to Miss Parmalee, as Miss Martha tripped wearily down the front walk—“I must say, of all the educated women who have really been in the world, she is the strangest. You and I have done nothing but ask inane questions, and she has sat waiting for them, and chirped back like a canary. I am simply worn out.”
“So am I,” sighed Miss Parmalee.