I goes choky in the throat. There was a lot of points I wanted to make, but I couldn't seem to state 'em fast enough. All I can get out is: "But—but see here; we—we was sort of plannin' to—to be—"
"Nonsense!" cuts in Auntie. "You are hardly more than children, either of you. It's absurd enough of you becoming engaged. But beyond that— Oh, not for years and years."
Oh, yes, there was a lot more to the debate—on our side. I registered strong, with some cuttin' remark about bein' treated like a scrap of paper. As for Auntie, she simply stands pat. "Not for years and years." That's where her argument begins and ends. Not that she's messy about it, or intends to be mean. She simply don't take our little plans serious. They don't count.
"There, there!" says she. "We'll say no more about it," and sails off to sort out the dresses she'll want to stow in her trunk.
"Huh!" says I, glancin' at Vee. "Merry idea of hers, eh? Years and years! Talks like she thought gettin' married was some game like issuin' long-term bonds maturin' about 1950."
"If you only knew how stupid and dull it's going to be for me there!" says Vee, poutin'.
"With you that far off," says I, "New York ain't goin' to seem so gay for a certain party."
"I suppose I must go, though," says Vee.
"I don't get it," says I.
"Oh, but I must," says she.