“You are not out! How silly of you, with your bald head, to expose yourself to an east wind.”
“I wish that you would not rub my bald head quite so freely into me before the servants,” returned he, with less gratitude than exasperation, retreating into his lair.
“And I wish,” retorted she, “that you had not compelled me, by your silly sentimentality about her, to banish that poor dear homeless little creature.”
And then they both felt better.
CHAPTER III
“I cannot think why she is coming by such an early train,” said Mrs. Tancred, referring to a note less blackly bordered than she thought it ought to be.
“Perhaps Tom has put his foot down,” returned her husband.
“She spells brougham phonetically, as if it were a besom.” After a moment, “What on earth shall I do with her between tea and dinner time?”
“Tell her to ‘rest.’ Is not that the proper thing?”
“Pooh! at eighteen they never want to rest.”