“Change come wid our dissolution,” he assured her, “quite soon enuff!”
“Bah,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek to his: “we set out on our journey sh’o in de season ob Novemba.”
To which with asperity he replied: “Not for two Revolutions!” and rising brusquely, strode solemnly from the room.
“Hey-ho-day,” she yawned, starting a wheezy gramophone, and sinking down upon his empty chair; and she was lost in ball-room fancies (whirling in the arms of some blonde young foreigner), when she caught sight of her daughter’s reflection in the glass.
Having broken, or discarded her girdle of leaves, Miss Miami Mouth, attracted by the gramophone, appeared to be teaching a hectic two-step to the cat.
“Fie, fie, my lass. Why you be so Indian?” her mother exclaimed, bestowing, with the full force of a carpet-slipper, a well-aimed spank from behind.
“Aïe, aïe!”
“Sh’o: you nohow select!”
“Aïe....”