“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re not.”
I am”.
“You ar-r-re not.”
“I am”.
“You are, ar-r-re not.”
“We’ll see whether I will or not in a minute or two,” he said with amusement.
“But, Mr Betcham, I object to your company. I am quite capable of taking care of myself; besides, if you come home with me I will not be allowed out alone again—it will be altogether unpleasant for me.”
Mrs Butler now appeared with the mail and some parcels, and Harold stowed them in the buggy.