"I believe you did it purposely, you wretch!" says she, shakin' a finger at me.
"Who wouldn't?" says I. "See what I get by it!"
"Silly!" says she. "I've a mind to rumple those red curls."
"Go on," says I, takin' my hat off. "They'd wiggle for joy."
"Then I'll do nothing of the kind," says she. "You haven't even said you were glad to see me."
"I'm keepin' it a dead secret," says I. "What happened to Europe; was it on the fritz?"
"Poky," says she. "And they found out I was no musical genius, after all. Aunty's disgusted with me."
"She ought to take something for her taste," says I.
"Oh!" says she, tiltin' her head on one side. "Then you still approve of me?"
"That's the only motto on my wall," says I, "only I put it stronger."