Sylvia bit her lip.
"That was only a figure of speech—what is called poetic license. Writers are always would-ing things: Would I were a bird; would I were a ring upon that hand; would I were—were—well, almost anything. But it doesn't mean at all that they would really like to be those things."
"Then you didn't mean it when you said you wished I was here."
Horatio was obviously disappointed.
"Why, of course I am pleased to see you, Hortie. It is very nice of you to come to the Cape to meet my aunt and—"
"Darn your aunt!" he scowled. "I didn't come to see her."
"Hush! She's just inside."
"I don't care."
"But you will when you know her. She's darling."